The Gift
by Indarae
Summary: (Severitus’ Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.
1. Prologue

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: This fic has been a journey. It was begun on December 21, 2002. Three losses, one severe illness, eight classes, countless papers, five graduate school applications, and one year later, it is nearing completion. As always, most of this fic has been written as of the posting time. It currently sits at 85 pages, eleven chapters, and will have at least one and an epilogue to go before the final words are penned, placing the grand total pushing one hundred typed pages. I've had emails asking why it is so long between new stories — there is your answer. I have aproximately 500 pages of aborted or short, unpublished fic on my computer, and that's only counted what's typed up. Some of these, like this fic itself, will ultimately be finished. Others will waste away on my harddrive, as lost ideas are want to do. New stories will come as they're finished, I promise it. 

This fic, at least, is based on Severitus' challenge — or, actually, an offshoot of it as posted on the Severitus list. The challenge guidelines will be posted in an extended author note at the close of the prologue. Updates will be frequent, since the story itself is mostly done. So, until the note at the bottom, enjoy _The Gift_.

Prologue

October 6, 1980

Just as he had for the past three months, Severus Snape knelt next to a pair of graves, beneath an ancient willow, on the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The site overlooked the lake, just as Beth would've wanted. She'd loved the lake — her passion had been the study of the creatures living in the magical ecosystem beneath the waves. The mermen, the squid, the grindylows, and the little fishes, each with their own purpose in life... she'd once said that seeing their purpose gave her own life meaning. The grave on the bank was Severus' way of giving his lover a final purpose — just as she'd want, her body would give life to the soil and nutrients to the lake, as would the body of little William, who never had the chance to breathe the Scottish air.

Though the voice at his shoulder startled him, long months of despair held Severus in a web of apathy so tightly that nothing could shake his beaten façade. "You can't do this anymore," Albus murmured. The old man carefully shifted to his knees next to Severus, using William's headstone to steady himself.

Severus glared darkly at the perceived slight to his son. "There's nothing else for me to do. At least when I served the Dark Lord, I had a family to return to."

"Their deaths weren't our fault," Dumbledore snapped. Severus couldn't remember the last time Albus had lost his temper — but his mentor's disappointment failed to move his heart, weighted so heavily in sorrow. "Beth should never have been allowed to have a normal birth. She should've been at St. Mungo's, in the hands of a qualified specialist. The child was dead already, and she bled too much for us to save her. Even magic couldn't save her! I mourn her loss, Severus — but you cannot stop living."

"I have nothing to live for," was Severus' simple reply. He reached out and slowly traced the letters carved into marble, unable to hold back the tears. _Elizabeth M. Potter, 7 January, 1961- 29 July, 1980_. "She was too young to die. We should've been more careful. It was my fault — all of it was my fault — if I'd been present for the birth maybe I could've -"

The old man snorted and glared. "You could've done nothing. She died. The baby died. I gave you a second chance, and you've repaid me with nothing. Misery — mourning — it's time to get over it."

His finger froze over the b' of her nickname. Beth. His lovely, charming, beautiful Beth. "I can never stop mourning."

"I didn't save you from Azkaban for this," Dumbledore growled, gnarled hand reaching out to snatch Severus' fingers from the gravestone. "Your life is mine, until the debt is repaid. You have a duty to me — not to a dead woman or a dead child. There are children in terrible danger, Severus... their lives are worth as much as your son's... they have lived to draw breath, while he did not."

__

Your life is mine. It wasn't the first time he'd heard those words, though his last master had been twice as demanding; twice as terrible. Every word was true, though, as painful as it was to admit it. "My life is yours, Headmaster. I will take up my duty tomorrow. If Lord Voldemort doesn't kill me upon my return, I will report back the next night." He could feel his heart freezing to ice at the thought of leaving Beth to face the dawn alone, even if she could no longer see the light. And William... who would never have the chance to see it.

"I await it eagerly. There are lives to be saved." Dumbledore rose and left before Severus had a chance to respond.

__

Lives more important than yours remained unspoken, but Severus could hear it in the undertones of the old Headmaster's voice. No life was less important than Severus' was — should he give his in the fight, at least Beth and William would be waiting at the end. Slowly, he created a new mask to hide behind: cold, unfeeling, and rigid. Never again would he make himself to vulnerable to anyone. Albus held the cards now, and the old man knew it. Voldemort waited.

Severus slipped his wand from his pocket and held the tip to the earth, between the two graves. "_Floris_," he whispered, and a branch sprouted from the cold ground, sprouting buds, and finally blossoming into pale pink roses. They would bloom, for all time, where his family rested — and one day, he would be allowed to join them. 

The mask slid firmly into place.

December 18, 1997

Minerva McGonagall knelt to plant the first poppy. "They will spread over the field between the Forest and the school, to honour the life of Albus Dumbledore, as ageless as he could ever hope to be."

Along with the rest of the school, Harry Potter sank to his knees and planted a poppy flower, magically sprouted and in bloom by the work of Professor Sprout, forever in bloom as a memorial. The funeral was a blur for the Boy Who Lived, as the painful battle only two days prior was relived, time and time again.

Voldemort had entered the school, using the very passage from Hogsmeade that Harry refused to reveal, and moved stealthily down the halls to the Gryffindor Common Room. It had been night — Harry would have been sleeping, the perfect target — but, somehow, Dumbledore had known that the Dark Lord was planning the assassination, and Harry was awake and waiting. Tonks, and Remus Lupin, and Hagrid. The battle had come to them. They fought... Tonks fell to a Death Eater, gravely wounded — Remus took a scrape of Wormtail's silver hand and may not escaped the battle alive — Hagrid fell to Lucius Malfoy — and, finally Harry had faced Voldemort alone. There was no Priori Incantatem to save him, then. And, with everyone else incapacitated and Harry vulnerable, Dumbledore threw himself at Voldemort and ended it all.

Voldemort did not die... but Albus Dumbledore did. He fell sending the Dark Lord out of Hogwarts, leaving Harry behind to pick up the pieces. And that was why, on a snowy day in early December, the whole student body of Hogwarts stood crowded in an empty field around a freshly filled grave, planting magically blooming poppies. 

Hagrid's funeral had been held only a few hours earlier, as he was put to rest in the garden behind his hut, one with his beloved forest forevermore. Tonks limped along at Harry's side, one leg a mass of bandages and flesh, scarred — and possibly useless, due to the unidentifiable curse that had touched it. Lupin couldn't attend, still unconscious in the Hospital Wing. In one day, Harry's entire life had been turned upside down with the same severity as one night in 1981.

Dumbledore's gift had been a second chance; a chance for Harry to destroy evil forever... but the gift was empty, without a plan and a hope for success.

Harry didn't care that the rest of the school saw tears on the face of the Boy Who Lived. "Don't lose hope," Ginny whispered in his ear, grabbing his hand and pulling him to her side. "He won't have died in vain."

"I can only hope," Harry murmured back. But then there was Tonks, still in pain and forever scarred, and Remus Lupin, put close to death by a man he'd once called friend. Harry entangled his fingers with Ginny's and laid his head on her shoulder. 

Ron clapped him on the back — it could only be Ron, that flash of copper in the corner of his vision — and he wiped the tears away with his free hand. "Come inside, mate, I'm getting cold. Everyone's on their way... Hermione's off crying on Seamus' shoulder. We can see the flowers from the Common Room, if you want."

"Not everyone," Harry murmured. A tall, dark figure had caught his gaze, sweeping past Tonks, who was struggling on her crutches in the deep snow. "Ron, Gin, could you help Tonks? I want to see what Snape's up to."

Ginny glared as Ron nodded and swept across the poppy-strewn field to help. "Leave him alone in his grief, Harry. Who knows how he's going to mourn? If it hadn't been for Dumbledore, Professor Snape would've been thrown in Azkaban back around the time you were born. Did you watch the way Snape acted around him? They seemed almost like father and son."

"I won't bother him," Harry countered. He gave Ginny a wan smile. "Don't worry, I won't be seen. He's just going toward the Forest — and I know that's where Goyle's body was found. There might be more Death Eaters hanging around, waiting to see if any more Slytherins turn."

"Not just Slytherins," Ginny snapped, before turning and stalking off.

Harry sighed. While she spoke the truth (Ernie MacMillan had disappeared with the retreating Death Eaters), being friends with Ginny was twice as difficult as being the object of her crush — she had mood swings and quirks that he thought he'd never get used to. Snape was far enough ahead, though, and Harry took off at a slow jog across the frozen field. Snape's arm was still held tight to his body in a sling and the limp was still in his step, a bruise still on his face all signs of the unknown horrors he'd endured at the hands of Voldemort before escaping, on the same night the school was attacked. He'd been held captive for a mere week — but he'd told no one. Dumbledore had been dead by the time he'd stumbled back onto the Hogwarts grounds and waded through the blood of his students.

The snow crunched loudly underfoot, and Harry was more than a little afraid that Snape would hear him coming but if he did, the professor gave no sign. At the edge of the lake, Snape followed the frozen water until it intersected with the forest, then along for a short distance before stopping at three mounds of snow beneath a willow tree. Harry charmed his footsteps silent and snuck around through the trees until Snape's actions were only just visible. He'd never been this way before — it was too close to the forest, and Ginny was right about the Death Eater threat — but on the day of Dumbledore's funeral, it seemed especially odd for Snape to be leaving himself so open to attack. He dug the snow away from two stones — gravestones — and diligently cleaned it away from a bush full of roses, still blooming despite the freeze. That chore completed, the professor stood and, as Harry huddled against a tree, afraid of being seen, walked off along the shore in the direction of the school. 

Temptation proved itself too much for Harry to handle, and as soon as he thought the coast clear, he scurried out of the cover of the trees and to the clearing on the lakeshore. The bush he examined first: just as with the poppies they'd planted over the field for Dumbledore, these were charmed against the seasons and forever in bloom. Next were the gravestones, which Snape hadn't cleaned so well as Harry would've expected. Ignoring the chill, he knelt in front of the larger and dusted away the snow, forcing himself to suppress a gasp at what he found. "Potter?" he murmured to himself, before taking a closer look at the dates on the stone. The woman, whomever she'd been, had died only two days before his birth.

The first gravestone had been a shock but, after dusting away more snow, Harry uncovered the life-changing second. Unable to believe his eyes, he read it aloud, to the whistling breeze. "William Potter Snape. 29 July, 1980... stolen away before his first breath." 

Harry gulped and repeated the name before it finally made sense to him. Here lay Snape's son... two days Harry's elder... whose mother had been a Potter. Suddenly, the hate between James Potter and Snape took on a level of meaning that Harry had never considered — meaning that made Harry's stomach churn.

He took the journey back to the school at a run.

A/N2: Herein lie the guidelines of this particular bastard child of Severitus' challenge:

-Snape is Harry's father.

-Lily is not Harry's mother.

-Dumbledore reported that the child was stillborn. There is a grave on the Hogwarts grounds bearing the child's name.

-Remus or Sirius must play a role.

-Dumbledore is orchestrating the whole thing.

-Grave has a pink rosebush planted on it, which must be seen in full bloom, covered in snow.

Now, a second piece of the Author Note, for those readers of _Prayer of a Child_ on ff.net. Within the next few days, I will be returning that story to its intended end. As noted in a chapter of the fic, the original outline ended two chapters previous to what is posted now. Why this extension? Reviewers begged to know what was to happen to Herodos Snape and, for the first time writing as I posted, I gave in. I can assure you, it won't happen again. After the release of _Order of the Phoenix_, the muse for _Prayer of a Child_ donned a new hat and skipped fandoms. I have no notes about what else was to happen in the story, as no real plan past my written end existed. I have no ideas, as everything was being written off the cuff. I feel the last two chapters to be some of the most shoddy writing I've ever posted, and for that I apologize. However, I feel guilty abandoning the fic entirely, which is partially the reason why _this_ Severitus challenge got picked up again when I had break time to write. So, _Prayer_ will return to its original ending. This particular fic will have no sequel, nor with _Our Fathers_ or _Sunday Bloody Sunday_, no matter how many protests erupt. I feel my talents to be best represented in new fic, rather than rehashing bunnies long gone. 

And, with that, thank you for reading the long, probably rambling author's note. I look forward to hearing from all of you lovely readers. The first chapter of _The Gift_ will be up in a few days, wherein... Harry learns about James' past, the Trio spends the holiday apart, and all the changes since Sirius' death come to light. Cheers!


	2. Skeletons in the Closet

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely feedback, even for the prologue. Hopefully some of the themes contained herein will be new and creative, in the midst of a much-loved challenge. And continual feedback makes me happy ;). 

Chapter One — Skeletons in the Closet

December 19, 1997

It took a full day of silence at Remus' bedside before Harry summoned the courage to put the question to Tonks, who hadn't even known his father — and even then, he refused to admit what he'd seen. "Was Dad an only child?" he demanded, without prelude, tossing aside his History of Magic essay on the advent of wizarding government in Canada.

Tonks choked on her tea. "No... he wasn't... er, why do you ask?"

Harry caught himself before he admitted that he'd been spying on Snape. Tonks was an Auror, after all, not just a surrogate aunt. If she knew the truth of the matter, Harry would likely end up with a Snape-hosted detention. "Well, I'd just gotten to thinking about next summer. I won't have to go to the Dursleys anymore... and I know Dumbledore sent me to live with them because of the blood tie. But if Dad had siblings, why didn't I go to live with them?"

He expected an admission about the graves on the lakeshore. What he got was more than he'd bargained for. "Dumbledore didn't want to tell you," Tonks started hesitantly. She sighed, rubbing her face. "Well, Remus didn't either, and Remus has always done what Dumbledore asked... They thought that the information might colour your perceptions of the war — they're probably right, it will, but I think you deserve the truth of the matter. You see, Harry... James had a brother and a half-brother, Henry and Julius. Julius was quite a bit older than James was — Julius was only a few years younger than your grandmother was — and Henry was two years James' senior. They were both Dark by the time I was born."

"What were they like? How come nobody talks about them?" And how come neither was named Elizabeth and resting beside the lake? Harry stacked his books on the table next to Remus' bed and settled in for the story — and quite a story it promised to be, as Tonks squirmed in her chair uncomfortably.

"I can't think of a lighter way to put it... nobody talks about them because they were Death Eaters, Harry. Both of them. And that's why I know about them; it's required reading for Aurors." Tonks held up a hand to stop the torrent of questions Harry was preparing. "Please — before you get nervous about it, let me tell you a little more about Julius' mum. She was a Slytherin — an Avery, in fact — and Julius was born only a few months after your grandfather finished Hogwarts. It was an indiscretion that rocked both families, I'm told. Julius was raised by his mum, and ended up a Slytherin... Henry was a Gryffindor, but Julius took him under his wing when Henry left Hogwarts. I wasn't there for it, but Sirius told me how he changed, how he became Dark; it sounded terrible. But, in the end, it was their own evils that killed them. Julius tried to depose Voldemort's right hand, and when the Dark Lord learned of it, Julius, his wife, and his son were all murdered. That was 1976. In the next year, Henry was caught passing information to our side. It seems he turned back to the Light after Julius' murder; and Henry was also killed by Voldemort's hand. So, you see... Henry was redeemed. He wasn't completely evil."

Harry mulled over the information for a moment. It all seemed to fit, somehow... after all, the entire school had been very willing to think of Harry as the Heir of Slytherin when they'd learned he was a Parseltongue, and rumors had spread for ages after Cedric's death that Harry had been involved. "Hagrid once told me that there wasn't a wizard gone bad who hadn't been in Slytherin," Harry noted dully, too preoccupied with his thoughts to realize he'd spoken aloud. "He was certainly wrong..."

Tonks nodded, her voice snapping Harry from his reverie. "Beyond Pettigrew and Henry Potter and that Ravenclaw we found dead after the battle, he forgot that there are quite a few Slytherins who are Light. Snape, of course. All of the young ones who hid when Voldemort came calling."

"Goyle. Flint. Montegue. Parkinson. And Draco Malfoy, in the end. I heard Filch talking to Professor McGonagall — Malfoy's blood won't come off of the stones. I just can't believe he'd make a stand..." Harry sighed and shook his head. That vision would haunt him as much as the moment of Hagrid's or Dumbledore's death. After the injured Voldemort fled, Harry had been the one running to the Hospital Wing for help. And there, in the corridor outside the Fat Lady's portrait, he'd stumbled over Draco Malfoy's corpse, still warm, and into a pool of blood. His face had been set in a last determination.

Harry didn't realize he was crying until Tonkss limped over and drew him into a hug. "We were wrong about a lot of things," she admitted in a whisper. "Mad-eye found Lucius Malfoy's body this morning."

"What?" Harry hissed, pulling back from Tonks' comforting embrace. "Voldemort killed him, too? If he keeps going through followers like that -"

"No," Tonks cut in, shaking her head emphatically. "He hung himself in his front parlor, with a snapshot of Draco tucked in his pocket. Professor McGonagall told me at lunch. It was most definitely suicide — all curses have been ruled out."

They'd been wrong about everything, it seemed. Harry sighed and brushed away the tears. It was dinnertime, but he didn't want to face the nearly empty Slytherin table, or the haunted faces of the first-years, as they stared at the empty chairs littering the Head Table. Three days, and Remus was still in a coma. Dumbledore was dead. And Hagrid was gone. "Can we eat here again?" Harry asked softly. "I'd like to hear more about my dad's family. Do I have any other family out there, or are they all dead?"

"You need to eat in the Great Hall, Harry," Tonks murmured back. She reached for her crutches and patted Lupin's (still unresponsive) hand before rising unsteadily. "I know your friends are worried sick about you, and Ron's nearly at wits' end keeping Ginny from hysterics. He isn't looking too well himself... and Hermione won't leave the library, though I expect that's business as usual. She's told me she'll find a solution there... but she's just working away her grief. I can't blame her. And Minerva's thinking about ending the term early, just so everyone can go home in peace. I'm afraid many won't come back." Tonks began hobbling toward the door. "I'll tell you about your dad's family on the way. I'll tell you what Remus told me. It'll take plenty of time."

Harry rushed to open the door for Tonks. "Well, what was my grandfather like? Did he have a big family, like the Weasleys? Did Dad have cousins all over the place, like Ron?"

"Some, I think. I don't really know," Tonks admitted. "I think most of them died before my birth, and before yours. James' dad — his name was Henry. Your uncle was named for him, of course. James' dad was a highly respected Auror, he's in all the textbooks. He was a twin, actually, just like Fred and George Weasley, but according to Remus, your great-uncle Edward died when James was very little. Edward had a daughter called Elizabeth and a son called William — William was another Auror and died in defense of the McKinnons in '75, though he wasn't so famous as his uncle, and Elizabeth died in childbirth just before you were born."

And there it was — she was a cousin. Harry tried not to seize upon the solution too obviously, but he was unable to hold back all of his enthusiasm for the subject. "Childbirth? So, is her kid still out there?"

"Stillborn," Tonks said softly. "Remus told me about your birth, while we were at Grimmauld together. He said Elizabeth and Lily were here at Hogwarts hiding out together, since they were both too pregnant to do anything for the Order. I was seven years old, then, I remember being in hiding with my family too... but Remus said that after Elizabeth died and her child was stillborn, James was worried sick about Lily, and you. They weren't there when you were born, you know. Remus and James had gone off to help with some mission, because Lily wasn't due until halfway through August." The pair slowed down as Harry helped the crippled ex-Auror down the main stairs. "Remus said Lily was petrified you'd been born dead, too. You wouldn't cry or anything, but Dumbledore took you off and when he brought you back, you were smiling and screaming your head off."

Harry let Tonks lean on him the whole way up to the Head Table, ignoring the muted conversation and handful of students alone at the Slytherin table as best he could. "Was my name already picked out?" he asked, truly curious.

"Lord, no," Tonks laughed. "Actually, Remus said he thought you were a girl. Lily wanted to name you Caroline, and James wanted Grace. Remus said that was James' mum's name, and Lily's mum's name was Caroline. You ended up Harry, I guess since that was James' dad's nickname. I don't know for certain."

As Harry helped Remus settle in next to McGonagall, the new Headmistress smiled up at him. "Hearing the story of your miracle birth?" she asked sweetly. "Only two days after Bethy's death — what a tragedy, that... she never would admit who'd done the deed, and then it was too late," McGonagall murmured. Harry snuck a glance down at Snape; the dour Potions Master's head was bowed and he glared at McGonagall from under hooded lids. "Quite the scandal," Professor McGonagall continued. "She was only a month out of Hogwarts."

"He's had enough family history for one day," Tonks said with finality. "Go on, I can see Hermione, Ginny and Ron staring up at us all. You owe them some of your time."

"Yes, I do," Harry muttered, fighting a losing battle with a blush. With a nod to the professors, he went and joined Ginny, Hermione and Ron, eagerly accepting the seat at Ron's side.

"Any change?" Ginny asked from across the table, herding a few peas across her plate with her fork.

Harry didn't take any food at all. "None," he whispered. "It's been three whole days... Gin, what if he doesn't wake up?"

Ginny glanced up, then reached over to squeeze his arm. "Then he died saving you. He loves you like a son, Harry. He got to spend the last few months here, with you. He always wanted that, even if he couldn't adopt you because of the whole werewolf thing. And who knows... maybe tomorrow, he'll wake up with a smile and demand a full English breakfast. He's not dead yet."

"Not yet," Harry murmured. He buried his face in his hands and tried to push away the pain, the confusion, and the whirl of thoughts brought on by the brief family history. At the very least, Ginny was still there... not to mention Ron's smile, Luna's crazy theories, and Hermione's enthusiasm. They were all together.

~

"We'll have to send students home by portkey, and at a number of different times. The Express is much too dangerous, considering the circumstances," Professor McGonagall explained. Harry was only half listening, as there wasn't a chance in hell he'd be going back to the Dursleys this holiday, no matter the circumstances. They'd made that much clear when they'd kicked him out in August. No return, no contact, no nothing. "There will be a list for those remaining," McGonagall continued, "but unlike past years, your stay will have to be authorized by either Professor Snape or myself. All students who have somewhere to stay over the holiday are urged to go."

Snape caught Harry's attention — and the attention of the rest of the hall, it seemed, from the sudden cessation of noise — when he rose from his seat and gave his first speech as Assistant Headmaster. The bruises had faded, but his arm was still useless, and he picked at the edge of his sling as he spoke. "The remaining members of Slytherin House are urged to stay. By stating your allegiance, you've placed yourselves in twice the danger of any Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff in the room."

Ron gave a snort and murmured, "And Gryffindors place themselves in danger, is that it?" Ginny laughed softly and smacked him on the arm. Instead of adding his approval, Harry's gaze strayed to the Slytherin table for the first time in the past week. Twelve, he counted. Of the proud House, renowned for producing some of the finest — if most cunning — minds in the wizarding world, twelve remained at Hogwarts.

Without meaning to, Harry caught Blaise Zabini's gaze. The other boy nodded solemnly before turning to speak to a first-year. It was the only civil contact they'd ever had. Though brief, it called to mind a hundred gazes Harry had shared with other Slytherins — most hostile, and most with Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, whose blood still stained the hall before Gryffindor Tower. Or Montegue, late of the sixth year, whose body had been found in the corridor near the Hospital Wing, at the point where the main hall split off. He'd likely tried to run for help — but some Death Eater had seen, and Montegue had fallen to a simple Killing Curse. Or Pansy Parkinson, who fell meters from Gareth, throat slit from ear to ear. The stain of her blood was still there, too, and Harry tried not to see it every time he went to visit Remus. Malfoy's blood, though — it was inescapable, as was the memory of his dead eyes, clouded over and sad. Harry wouldn't ever forget his eyes.

"Don't think about it," hermione whispered, grabbing Harry's wrist under the table. "It wasn't your fault." It was astounding how good she'd gotten at picking up his moods, but it was certainly something he needed. Ignoring a look of vague disgust from Seamus, Harry laid his head on Hermione's shoulder and stopped watching.

McGonagall was talking once more. "Finally, those who remain at the school will be expected to help with the war efforts. You will not have a restful holiday. The school governors will be making a final decision on who will fill Headmaster Dumbledore's post. He left a wealth of information behind him — some of you will be concentrating on reading his letters and papers. There are wards to repair, and Mr. Filch can always use help closing off unused classrooms and fortifying the areas we have. We'll work together on all this. Now, then... speak to Professor Snape or myself before Friday, and by Monday there will be a schedule for the removal of students. Please, keep what I've said in mind."

As food appeared on the table, Harry murmured, "Are you going to your parents, Ron?"

He shook his head. "Percy and Bill are coming here for the holiday." Ron still scowled when he said Percy's name, but the Minister of Magic's admission that Voldemort was actually around opened Percy's eyes ages earlier. Ron could always be trusted to keep his grudges. "I think Bill might be filling in for-for Hagrid temporarily — but he's great with wards and curses, so we could use him. Mum, Dad, and the twins are still in hiding. Dumbledore said it was too dangerous for us to go to them this year — and I'm sure he'll have told McGonagall that."  
"How about Charlie?" Harry asked.

"Beauxbaton," Ginny said shortly, grimacing. "Maxine's using dragons to guard the school now, apparently. He has Hagrid's job there. I bet he's terrible — he hasn't a word of French."

Hermione glared, giving Harry a nudge so that he sat up again. "Ginny, that's a terrible thing to say about your brother! Plus, there are dozens of translation spells that could easily -"

"Oh, come off it," Ron snapped. He locked gazes with the overprotective Seamus, waiting for Hermione's boyfriend to make a move, but he stayed silent, mercifully. The arguments were getting louder and more violent as the year progressed. Harry just hoped the holiday would give everyone a chance to cool down.

"I'll bet all the Slytherins stay," Seamus said, shooting a superior glare at Ron before ignoring him entirely. "There are twelve? Six first-years, three seconds, a fourth, a fifth, and Zabini. How many died in the attack? How many left?"

"Seventeen died," Harry said, hoping his voice was more stable than it seemed to him. "Malfoy, Goyle, Parkinson, Montegue, Le Fay, Baddock, Jordan -"

Hermione shook her head with a moan. "Please, don't name them all. I can't stand to hear it again. How could he kill the children of his own followers?"

The image of Malfoy's clouded, sad, dead eyes, and of Parkinson's resignation, and Montegue's desperation floated across Harry's consciousness. "I wish we knew what happened. Why kill them the way they did?"

"I imagine Malfoy said something snarky and You-Know-Who didn't much like it," Ron put in. "He's... He was really good at insulting people. I couldn't ever imagine Malfoy taking orders from anyone."

"He looked defiant," Harry whispered. He was conscious of Seamus reaching over to give his shoulder a friendly smack, but the memory of the dead eyes was too much to bear, for the moment. "Malfoy went one step too far... and his father couldn't save him, for once. And that's why Lucius went home and hanged himself. And they found his mother, I read. They aren't sure what killed her — or they aren't admitting, if it was suicide or murder."

"It was murder," a voice broke in from Harry's shoulder. The focus of the whole table turned to one Blaise Zabini, standing at Harry's back. "They're saying she had the Dark Mark burned into her skin, and her throat slit. I guess the Dark Lord couldn't let the last one live... and Draco was the one who told me to hide the first-years. Without Draco's foresight, none of us would've survived. I'd say the Dark Lord discovered that." In the silence following his statement, Blaise slowly met each of the gazes directed at him before slipping out into the hallway. 

Harry wasn't conscious of whatever happened next — he was too focused on the other boy's eyes, seeming just as deadened and darkened by loss as those he saw in the mirror every morning. The Dark Lord's reach was extending.

A/N: Next time, on "The Gift"...

Ron snorted as Hermione sobbed and let herself be led away. "I wouldn't be sorry if he didn't come back," he growled.

+

Zabini shrugged. "It's always about Draco. It always has been."

+

"Wait — did you say Hermes Potter?" Ron broke in.

+

"You honestly didn't know about 1899?" Blaise asked from his shoulder. "Lord — sorry about that. I thought everyone knew about the April Massacre... I had family there too, you know. On both sides. But that's what having a Slytherin family means... you never really know where your name will turn up."

.... Coming Soon!


	3. Revelations in the Text

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: MMm. Weekend. I've done nothing today but sit on my arse and read fanfic of various genres. So here you go, my next piece of contribution to the growing field.

Chapter Two — Revelations in the Text

December 21, 1997

"I'll sent your presents by owl!" Hermione promised, nearly in tears as she stood with her trunk in front of the school. Seamus was playing the supportive boyfriend and ignoring Ron's dark looks as Hermione sniffled her good-byes. "And I'll keep researching! I know there's an answer hidden somewhere, and I promise I'll find it! I'll be back in January, even if I'm the only one!"

Hermione's group was the last to portkey out to King's Cross. The only students left were those who had no other place to go. "I'm sure we'll be spending some time in the library ourselves," Harry admitted. "Tonks always needs new reading material." They took shifts at Remus' side, now — McGonagall, Tonks, Harry, and even Snape. There were plenty of defensive spells to be learned, as well; spells that Tonks had promised to teach in lieu of other homework. Rumors had come from the remainders of Dumbledore's spy ring of an attack near Christmas — at New Years, when the wards around the castle had to be renewed for the year. A reorganization of the staff was already underway and a number of Dumbledore's friends among the Aurors had promised their time for the defense. The school governors hadn't given word yet, but McGonagall had been assumed as the next Headmistress, with Snape at her side. It's what Dumbledore would've wanted.

"We'll write, we promise," Ginny said, patting Hermione's shoulder. "You keep up your good work, and we'll do our best. I'm sure Professor McGonagall will keep us busy with the wards."

"The train's going to leave," Seamus broke in, tugging Hermione's arm. "Neville's saved us a space in a cabin. We'll see you all in January, without a doubt!"

Ron snorted as Hermione sobbed and let herself be led away. "I wouldn't be sorry if he didn't come back," he growled, but they were too far away to overhear.

"Your own fault you didn't ask her first," Ginny snapped. "If you'd listened to me in the first place, Ron, you wouldn't be moaning on about -"

Harry poked Ginny's shoulder, shaking his head. There wasn't time to argue. "McGonagall will be waiting to assign tasks. And won't Percy be here in an hour or so?"

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, still staring after the group. "He's walking up from Hogsmeade, I think. I haven't seen him since last February, when he left for Egypt."

"C'mon," Harry muttered to Ginny, letting Ron stand alone with his thoughts, and Luna, who had remained silent during most of the exchange, buried in a book on vampires. She finally glanced over and noticed Ginny and Harry leaving, and hurried to join them. "Did Percy like being in Egypt? I mean — he didn't have much of a choice after that whole deal with Fudge, but -"

Ginny shrugged. "He'll be happy to be home, I think. He took being fired harder than Mum expected, but I don't think he regrets standing with the family. And Bill's a good teacher; I'll bet Percy's top-notch at curse breaking, now. He was always best at history sorts of things, in school."

  
"I was happy to see him apologize to your father," Luna murmured. "Your mum looked so sad when I met her. Is she better now?"

"Much," Ginny said. "And I think his being far away made things even easier to smooth over. He sent back his sweater that Christmas, you know." From the scowl on her face, it seemed as though that must've been more of a blow than standing with Fudge.

They wandered over to the Great Hall, where only a single table remained for the holidays. Seats had been set up across from the teachers at the Head Table, and the loss of Dumbledore and Hagrid left more than enough room. "Will Percy be going back to Egypt after we're done here?"

"He's staying on for something, according to Mum. She couldn't say more, in case the letter was intercepted," Ginny said. Her face darkened at the mention of the danger her family was in, and she changed the subject quickly. "Let's see, who's staying for the holiday? All twelve Slytherins, right...? And just the three of us for Gryffindors... Percy and Bill... Justin Finch-Fletchley and Philippa Parker for Hufflepuff... And just you, Luna, and Norah Roberts for Ravenclaw? Am I missing any?"

"Remus," Harry said. "He's not a student, but he's certainly not a teacher. I wonder if Professor McGonagall will reveal him to everyone. She's been very careful about who goes into the back of the Infirmary — think she's afraid of what the student would say if they knew a werewolf was there. When's the next full moon?"

"December the 29th," Luna said, offhand, shifting her book around. "He won't be a problem if he's asleep."

The twelve Slytherins caught Harry's attention, all clustered near the fireplace at the side of the hall, with Zabini in the middle, like a lord with his vassals... or a shepherd with his sheep. Or, just maybe, a father comforting frightened children. The Slytherins, generally a proud and raucous group, were nearly silent. "I'll be up to the table in a minute," he murmured to Luna and Ginny, "but I need to ask Zabini something."

Ginny glared — she hated to be left out of anything — but turned and headed off anyway, Luna trailing behind. Seeing the Slytherins all together had brought a question to Harry's mind and as he crossed to the group — twenty-four eyes glaring at him suspiciously — he couldn't help but ask. "Er... Zabini, a word?" he stuttered. The glares of eleven-year-olds really were disconcerting, especially as he'd so recently been one of them. Six and a half years... and so many regrets ago. 

Zabini nodded shortly and turned to the eldest of the others, the fifth year, whom Harry only knew after being reinstated into Quidditch. "Seth, get everyone up to the table. I think McGonagall will be in soon. I think we'll have a lot of moving to do." Seth nodded and started giving out orders to the younger students while Zabini followed Harry aside. "Yeah, Potter? What is it?"

"... You're moving? Where?" Harry asked faintly. He was only half-aware of the answer, as Snape entered the room, catching his attention. The professor still limped painfully, which was especially noticeable more than two weeks after his return to the school, when even Tonks' curse-poisoning had been healed. Voldemort had done something permanently damaging — and when wizarding medicine was involved, permanent injuries were difficult to come by.

"- can't stay in the dungeons, of course," Zabini was saying. "The Common Room is... stained. Three first-years, all of the second-years except for the three we've still got, and every third-year died there. We're bunked in the Headmaster's rooms, since there's plenty of space, and no one's using them, but Professor McGonagall intends to house us elsewhere after the break. However, I doubt that's what you really want to ask... is it about Draco?"

Harry couldn't help gaping. "How did you know that?"

Zabini shrugged. "It's always about Draco. It always has been."

"Well, it's also about all of you," Harry stuttered. "Er... I was — we were wondering... what happened, down there? How did the twelve of you hide in time? You said Malf- Draco had something to do with it... I thought he supported his father, and as his father was a Death Eater..." Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"I wondered when you'd ask," Zabini quipped. "Well, we'd a plan ready for days. We knew he'd be attacking, we just didn't know the day. You see, Draco knew where Professor Snape was -"

"Then why didn't he tell anyone?" Harry snapped irritably. "Maybe it would've saved lives!"

Blaise crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the fireplace, glaring. "Potter, I don't have to tell you any of this. Now shut up and listen — Draco knew where Professor Snape was. He told Dumbledore, but the lack of dates and times made the knowledge practically useless... so we had a system worked out. Claire, one of the third-years, would set off an Alarm Hex if He showed up... we had protected hiding spots chosen... and then He came when we didn't expect it. She set off the hex, but most of the Slytherins were in the Common Room, doing homework. I was up in the dorm, getting a quill... I heard the hex and hurried up to the first-years and second-years — their dorms are above the sixth- and seventh-years — and got them into hiding. Seth and Matt were already there... and no one came to join us. We hid for hours. And when the coast was clear, I went out first..." He trailed off and glared down at the tile floor, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. "We couldn't have stopped it, but — God, they were all so young, and He just lined them up and went down the row and — there was blood -" Blaise choked and shook his head, falling silent.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. There were Malfoy's eyes again, clouded and accusing. It had been Harry's job to save them all, and he'd failed. Again. He sighed and got back to his question. "Why did Malfoy want to help Dumbledore, though? I still don't understand."

"Snape," Blaise said simply. "They took Snape. Mr. Malfoy hinted at what they were doing to him, in one of his letters to Draco after he escaped Azkaban, and Draco couldn't take it anymore. He said... he said Snape was more of a father to him than Mr. Malfoy could ever be. When He showed up, Draco planned to go and free Professor Snape. I guess Snape made it out anyway."

Harry leaned against the wall to steady himself against a wave of anger. "He didn't have to die then," he muttered, only half aware that he'd spoken audibly. "Montegue went for help — and I don't know why they murdered Pansy, but her blood was all over the hall — I -" Harry choked and winced, closing his eyes against an onslaught of desperate tears.

He was surprised by the gentle hand on his shoulder. "None of them had to die," Blaise murmured, "and none of the rest will, even if I have to stand up and fight, myself. I know you're a Gryffindor, and you probably can't stand even the thought of a Light Slytherin — but you're a Potter, too, and Potters used to be as Slytherin as my family. Will you help me? I know Weasley won't want a hand in it... and you have no idea how difficult it is, asking this of you... but I need help to keep them safe."

"You'll have my help," Harry said slowly, opening his eyes to meet Zabini's gaze. "It shouldn't matter what House I'm in — not anymore."

Zabini nodded slowly and stepped back, holding out his hand in friendship.

Harry stopped short, staring at the gesture. "Ma- Draco asked me to be friends, once. Before first year. We were on the train," Harry remembered. "He told me I should be careful who my friends were."

"Well, he was right, wasn't he?" Blaise whispered. He winced. "If you'd chosen the other way... maybe begged to be put in Slytherin with your new friend... then you'd be one of the dead, now, too."

His hand was still extended. With one more pause, Harry took it.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Zabini?" McGonagall called from the High Table. Zabini started to jerk back, guiltily, but Harry clamped a hand on the Slytherin's shoulder. Let the others see — it was time to put the differences aside. "Please come up and take seats. We need to discuss the next few weeks, and hand out assignments and papers..."

There were plenty of chairs left, as Percy and Bill had yet to arrive, but Harry took the one Luna had saved, and Blaise surprised him by taking a chair at his left. Ron glared in betrayal from down the table, next to Justin Finch-Fletchley and an empty space for a brother, but Harry chose to ignore him. There would be plenty of time to argue later, when the Slytherins weren't around. 

As soon as Blaise was settled, Professor McGonagall gave a sharp nod. "Alright, then — this isn't everyone, but we have plenty of work to finish as quickly as we can. First, an announcement: for the next few days, all of you will move into the Ravenclaw dormitories. Your things will be moved by the time we've finished here. Wards need to be reinforced around the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff dormitories; Slytherin has been abandoned for the year. Once the wards are secured, you will move to the Gryffindor dormitories to reinforce the Ravenclaw ones. The password for both rooms will be Phoenix for the time you abide there; it will be changed when the other students return and you go back to your House dormitories. Questions?"

One of the Slytherins — a first-year, from the soprano of his voice — spoke up immediately. "Where are we going to live? When the others get back, I mean? I don't want to go back to our rooms — but we can't live in the Headmaster's..."

"You won't be resorted, if that's what you're asking, Mr. Pennington," Snape answered. He was leaned back in his chair, his useless arm draped across his lap and the normally disagreeable expression gone from his face. "We are already aware of at least two students who will not be returning for the next term. You'll be taking the empty beds — no matter the House, and no matter the year. I believe the Headmaster made a miscalculation by basing our war efforts in the school — and after this holiday, the school will never be in the middle again. We'll be building a new Slytherin dormitory this summer. The old ones will be closed off... a memorial, of sorts." His expression flickered — was that sadness? — before settling on a neutral again.

McGonagall nodded resolutely. "No other questions...? Well, now for a few reading assignments, I'm afraid." She dug in her pocket and pulled out a stack of tiny books, aimed her wand, and muttered, "_Engorgio_. These are the Headmaster's journals. He kept decent records, starting about the time he left Hogwarts, in 1883." The journals, enlarged and stacked, reached higher than McGonagall's tartan hat. She reached to grab the top few books and flicked open a short piece of parchment. "I've tried to assign dates so that none of you will end up reading terrible things about your teachers... along those lines, I will be reading the journals from 1934 until 1948, as only I should know what he thought of me as a student and young teacher..." And, Harry mused, she'd very carefully selected the years that Tom Riddle had been a student, as well. Without any more elaboration, she started passing the journals to the students. All the first-years were only allowed a year, it seemed, but the journals from the beginning of Dumbledore's life were much thicker than those near the end. Not surprisingly, Harry found himself holding the years of 1976-1982: the last two years his parents attended the school up until their deaths. Oddly enough, it looked as though 1980 was a great deal more noteworthy than the infamous year of 1981. 

Harry glanced up in time to watch Professor McGonagall pass a single tome over to Snape. "1899?" one of the first-years chirruped. "What happened in 1899, Professor Snape?"

"You'll learn about it in fifth year History of Magic, Miss Walters," he snapped.

"Yeah, but she won't remember it," Blaise muttered, and Harry shot him a half-grin. It was true — with Binns teaching, Harry couldn't remember the date either.

It was obvious from Snape's scowl that the snarky professor had heard them. "I'll refrain from insulting other teachers, but I assure you... he was more interesting before he died in 1979. Since you asked, Miss Walters, you'll all listen — 1899 was an incredibly vital year when speaking of the current crisis. In April of 1899, the last English Dark Lord preceding Lord Voldemort -" A number of students cringed. "- attacked Diagon Alley. I doubt any of you have sense enough to wonder why the buildings in the alley are so much newer than those in Knockturn Alley — and yes, Mr. Pennington, I'm quite aware of your jaunts down there this past summer — but in the spring of that year, the Dark Lord Hermes Potter led an army of one-hundred-and-fifty-three Dark Wizards -"

"Wait — did you say Hermes Potter?" Ron broke in.

Harry was suddenly aware of a table full of eyes on him. He turned to meet Ron's gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly. He hadn't known, of course... but there was the information that Remus and Dumbledore had worked so dilligently to keep him blind to. Binns' lectures had made it even easier... he'd slept through his own history...

"Yes, I said Hermes Potter," the Potions Master snapped. "And yes, he's this Potter's great-great-grandfather and, if I'm not mistaken, Professor Dumbledore's uncle by marriage. Here, I'll put it in phrases you can understand, Mr. Weasley: Potter attacked Diagon Alley. Several hundred witches and wizards fell. He was captured and died two years later, in Azkaban, though I daresay he was thoroughly mad before he got there. His son — present at the attack and certainly involved — later passed on his Dark knowledge to one Gustav Grindelwald. Ulysses Potter fell in 1919, to Dumbledore, then an Auror. Any questions as to why I will be reading of this attack?"

"What happened to my grandfather?" Harry blurted out, before clamping his mouth shut and sinking into his seat. The multitude of eyes returned, and he blushed furiously, utterly embarrassed by his ignorance about his own family.

Snape struggled to his feet, left arm still hanging uselessly. "This isn't a family history lesson, Potter!" he snarled. "We have work to do, we don't have time to waste on your pathetic -"

"Ulysses had two young sons," McGonagall broke in suddenly. "Henry and Edward. Professor Dumbledore raised them. And now we can work."

Snape growled — really growled, the two Slytherins nearest him scooted away — and slammed his fist against the table before dropping moodily into his seat. Harry spared a glance at Ginny, who was staring at him, slack-jawed, before turning to Blaise. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" he whispered.

It wasn't soft enough, though Harry should've realised that, he reflected, since everyone else was dead quiet. "I thought you knew," Professor McGonagall answered, sincerely. "I'd give Albus a talking to... but I'm sure he had a reason. He always did. I'm sure Severus didn't intend to put you in the spotlight like that, Mr. Potter -" Oh, on the contrary, Harry was sure Snape had intended it, but he surpressed the thought and focused on McGonagall's instructions instead. "You aren't your ancestors, nor am I mine. Now then, the teachers and myself will be resetting the wards, as I was saying. As far as the journals are concerned, please take notes on anything that seems important — we need to compile a full list of the topics addressed in each volume before moving on to the wealth of letters and legal documents filed away in his office. This is all very confidential — please do not share the personal information found in your volume unless it's a dire situation. Just note down what is said and turn the results in to me."

She kept talking about the glory of what was to come — the destruction of Voldemort and all such other plans — but Harry shuffled through the journals on his lap and opened 1976, trying to block out a vision of the reflection he saw in the mirror every morning riding into London with a hundred and fifty wizards, and destroying everything in sight.

****

28 July 1976

__

I have not been keeping my thoughts as I should... but it grows so hard to frame them. My son Henry is dead, and Julius with him. I went and identified the bodies... Henry looked as though he was only sleeping, though I suppose he's been reunited with Edward now. They should never have been parted so young... Julius bore the Mark, the one Henry warned me about. I cannot bring myself to care. My children are all dead, now, and Henry's son with him. I fear Junior has taken the road with Julius to the Dark, and Jim is a fifth-year now. With Grace gone, they're both alone. Though I wish nothing more than to grieve, little James needs me.

"Harry?" Ginny murmured, giving him a sharp poke in the ribs. "We're moving into the Ravenclaw dormitory now... What is it? What have you found?"

"First entry's about my grandfather, and my uncle," Harry said, his voice cracking with emotion. "They died when Dad was a fifth-year. I never knew that."

Ginny winced. "Look, maybe you should ask to trade with -"

"No," Harry snapped. "This is the only chance I'll have to learn these things. They've kept enough from me as it is. I didn't know about Hermes or Ulysses or the April Massacre or Grindelwald, and I didn't know Dumbledore killed my great-grandfather, or that he raised my granddad. There's some reason he kept it all from me, and I'll find out if it's the last thing I do... and I think it's somewhere in these." He slapped the stack of notebooks lightly before sweeping the mass into his arms. "Your brothers will be here soon, and Ron's angry with me again. Please smack him into his senses."

"He's not the only one needing a smack," Ginny griped, but she stomped off anyway, grabbing Luna's arm to take the Ravenclaw girl with her. Harry winced — he'd be hearing about how he'd horribly snubbed her to no end in the coming weeks, but he was too distraught to watch his language, as he cursed under his breath.

"You honestly didn't know about 1899?" Blaise asked from his shoulder. "Lord — sorry about that. I thought everyone knew about the April Massacre... I had family there too, you know. On both sides. But that's what having a Slytherin family means... you never really know where your name will turn up."

Like on a gravestone next to the lake, where Snape did his penance. "Yeah," Harry muttered. "And you never know what'll come back to bite you in the arse. She's going to kill me."

Blaise grinned rather maliciously, reminding Harry exactly which House he'd come from. "Well, can't say you didn't deserve it... c'mon, Potter, dirty secrets about the staff are hidden in these journals, and I'm looking forward to the blackmailing chance of a lifetime..."

Harry gave a snort as he followed Blaise — and the eleven other Slytherins — from the room. What a digusting thing to say. But, then again, it was his own fault for befriending a snake.

****

18 December 1976

__

I spoke to Junior the other day. He's working with the Department of Mysteries, he claims — and, of course, I cannot find out if that claim is truth. I fear he's followed Julius' path into Darkness. Julius' entire family was slaughtered — I had only an idea of the extent the Death Eaters would go to, before the little child was found, torn to pieces. I cannot speak of the atrocities they've committed... and I fear greatly for Junior. He looked tired, and worn to pieces.

****

20 January 1977

__

My worst fears are realized. Henry, Jr. is dead. Jim is outside the door — I cannot write more, only this: Junior died in the act of passing information to the Unspeakables about Voldemort's plans. He gave his life, but he was not lost... 

Harry scribbled away on a stack of parchment, trying to ignore Luna, who was curled up on the end of his bed. She was reading, too — 1984 — and didn't seem to be conscious of the fact her feet were resting on his leg, in a rather uncomfortable area. They were hardly in private, as Blaise, Ron, Justin, and Seth were all sprawled over their temporary beds, with Ginny on the end of Ron's, and taking notes as well, but Harry didn't mind, so long as no one made a point of it. He felt his face flush as a foot shifted. "Er — anything interesting?" he asked shortly, attempting to bring her actions to her attention.

"He's talking about Professor Snape joining the staff," Luna explained. "I'm up to September. I guess it was quite the scandal — just like Professor Lupin. Parents didn't want an accused Death Eater — even if he had been aquitted — teaching their children." To Harry's distress, her feet stayed right where they were.

"He was incredibly anxious about you getting here, Potter," Blaise said, waving 1991 around. "He keeps talking about Jim — is that your dad?"

"I've never heard anyone call him Jim before," Harry admitted. "I don't think he liked it very much."

"He was worried you'd be a Slytherin," Blaise grinned.

Harry forced out a laugh, hoping Luna wouldn't sense his unease... after all, he'd almost been one. "Yeah, me a Slytherin... what a joke... But, anyway, this whole bit's about my family. It's really interesting for me, but I doubt it's of any help to the Cause."

Justin threw his feet over the edge of his bed and sat up, stretching. "Yeah, at least yours is of interest. As far as I can tell, nothing really happened in 1964... or 1965... or 66. Well, I did learn that Dumbledore was a fan of the Beatles. Hey, did you know McCarthy was a Squib?"

Ron snorted. "Of course he was. I thought everyone knew that." He sat up as well, smoothing 1972 down on his lap. "Listen to this, Gin — Argus caught those Gryffindor seventh-years in the Astronomy Tower again: F. Longbottom and M. MacDermitt. If I don't do something with them, we'll end up with another pregnancy on our hands. I thought they all learned after Miss McDougal's unfortunate accident, back in 65.' Eww. Do you think those are Neville's parents?"

"Why don't we keep that bit a secret?" Ginny said, wincing. "I doubt he'd want to read that..." Suddenly she paused, reaching over to snag Ron's wrist in a blind panic. "Wait. Miss McDougal? Ron, that's Mum!"

His mouth dropped open. Very calmly, he set the diary on the Ravenclaw-blue blanket, pulled his wrist from his sister's grasp, and stood up. "Excuse me. I'm going to sick up." He turned and left the room at a dash.

Ginny snorted loudly. "Well, Bill had to be born somehow."

They fell silent again, and Luna finally moved her foot away as he went back to the painful emotions brought forth by every mention of his father. Even Ron's loud cursing from somewhere down the hall wasn't enough to disturb him.

****

25 January 1977

__

Jim and Sirius Black are living at Hogwarts permanently, now, as Mr. Black left his ancestral home over a year ago to live with James and Grace. Minerva worries about the arrangement. I do not — Jim and Mr. Black were already like brothers; now they truly are, though I believed my time as a father had long since gone by.

****

4 March 1977

__

The Australian girl has turned out to be a real Diviner! I wrote of her not long after her birth, I believe — it was 1957, November. I thought she might've been a fraud, as those born under Scorpio have less of an aura than those under Leo or even Saggitarius, but on a visit to Sydney, a friend took me to see her. She's quite taken with herself, I believe, making all sorts of false statements, but on the moment I entered the room, she went stiff and warned methat a child born at the end of July will be the one to kill Voldemort, and that Voldemort will mark him. I've the full prophecy recorded in several letters, but I believe I've deduced the right of it. Jim thinks I've gone batty, but even his father refused to trust divination. She's the real thing, however weak at it... perhaps I should offer her a job.

"Oh, this is funny — Trelawney was hired because she made a single prophecy that Dumbledore thought might be true," Harry reported, grinning, then stopped belatedly, realizing it was the very prophecy that had caused Sirius' death the year before. He glanced up and met Luna's gaze. She set aside her diary and patted his knee awkwardly.

Blaise nodded quickly. "Of course. Well, I didn't know it was Trelawney who predicted it, but the child's you, Potter. The papers kept quoting it when it was announced you'd be attending Hogwarts, and Uncle Janus said he'd memorized it simply because they'd printed it every day in November 1981. Everyone was making bets over what the mark was, until the Prophet released a picture of that scar of yours."

Harry shrugged, trying not to look too affected by the whole thing. "I didn't know I was a wizard until Hagrid brought me my letter..." He trailed off, trying to focus his thoughts away from the half-giant who lay buried next to his hut.

"Can I look for Binns' death?" Justin asked. "I want to see what Dumbledore had to say about the old coot going off to teach and leaving his body behind! It has to be better than scribbles of Beatles lyrics."

"Sure," Harry said, grabbing 1979 from the middle of the stack and tossing it across to Justin. "Just tell me if you find things about my parents' wedding; it should be in there."

Harry looked down to find 1980 fallen open across his lap, opened to a much-read page, having fallen from the stack. He had years to go... but when he saw the date, he figured he could save the others for later.

****

30 July 1980

__

I'm at a loss. The child still lives — but Severus cannot be allowed to raise him. He hasn't yet regained consciousness after the raid on the 27th, but I'm sure his first waking thoughts will be of Bethy. I dread telling him she's passed on... but the son is a danger to us all. If Severus takes him away from Scotland, as he's threatened, the whole of Britain will fall. And Lily is here, in labor — if her child is a girl, as I fear, it all will have gone wrong. I pray the child is a healthy boy, or we are all doomed.

****

31 July 1980

__

James, my child, forgive me for what I've done. The prophecy is true — and I am the cause of the deception. It is as I feared — the girl-child never drew breath -

"What's that?" Luna asked, sitting up to take a peek. Though she was glancing at it upside down, Harry had vivd memories of Luna's upside-down Quibblers.

Breath caught in his throat, Harry slammed the book shut. "Nothing. I wasn't even reading this one. Fell open. Shouldn't be reading ahead," he babbled, breathlessly.

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? Are you sure something isn't wrong? Here, let me -"

As she reached for the journal, Harry jumped back, clutching it to his chest reflexively. "It's nothing. Let it alone. McGonagall said we shouldn't share -"

"Well, you're the one who gave one of yours to Justin," Luna said airily, opening 1984 back up. "Honestly, Harry, if you don't want me to read about your birth, I won't — but it can hardly be as traumatising as your expression suggests."

Just how much had she seen, beyond the dates? "I'm hungry," Harry said abruptly. "I'm going down to the kitchens. Can I bring anything back?"

"Could you bring a pudding of some sort?" Seth the fifth-year Slytherin asked from behind his Ravenclaw-blue draperies. "Bread pudding would be nice... all heated up?"

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Harry fled.

~

"I'm afraid to read it, Remus," Harry whispered. Seth was probably waiting for his pudding, but Harry was too shell-shocked to eat. 

Pale and silent as death, Remus didn't answer. Harry grabbed his father's friend's hand anyway and sat down on the edge of his bed. "I guess Dumbledore had a reason for keeping everything quiet — but I've learned so much in the last few days that I wish I hadn't. My uncles were Death Eaters. There's a Dark Lord in the family. And then all of this... why would he lie?"

The only sound in the room, once Harry finished speaking, was the even noise of Remus' labored breaths. It was a spell keeping Remus alive, Harry was fairly certain. Without another word, he curled up at Remus' side and opened the journal again. He didn't really need to read further — he knew what it would say — but with Remus at his side, no matter how unresponsive, he thought he could face even the most frightening of facts.

****

31 July 1980

__

James, my child, forgive me for what I've done. The prophecy is true — and I am the cause of the deception. It is as I feared — the girl-child never drew breath, and Jim couldn't even be there for the labor. Although this made it all easier. Only the midwife knows that the baby she delivered was a stillborn girl, while the child given to the mother was a healthy boy baby. If James ever finds out... but he won't. When the prophecy is complete, I'll burn these writings. James won't know, Lily won't know, and most importantly, Severus will think his son lies buried with Elizabeth. James and Elizabeth are family, but they would have to forgive me this, if they knew the stakes.

Elizabeth, my daughter, rest in peace, your son is cared for. James, my son, the boy has the features of a Potter. Keep him safe, and he will save us all, even when I know I'm destined to lose you. And if anyone reads this... if I am dead before the work is done, keep the boy safe. Lily would name him Henry, for my Henry, James' father. Keep Henry Potter — or whatever his name becomes — safe from all evils, no matter the harm to yourself. The prophecy says he will save us, and it has not been wrong yet.

Harry forced himself to read the entry again. But then he could read no further. He buried his face in Remus' shoulder — still warm, thank God, still alive — and wept.

A/N: Next time on "The Gift"....

__

Harry's tenuous hold on hope gave out. Snape didn't know. The horrid revelation lay in the simple, red book on his lap.

~

"Don't you EVER do that again!" she railed, voice reminding Harry of nothing so much as the Howler Ron had received after crashing the Weasleys' Anglia into the Whomping Willow. "We were sure you'd gone off to have a cry somewhere, and You-Know-Who had showed up and killed you!"

~

"Harry, he's your fecking father! He's gone your whole life thinking you're dead and buried! You can't keep something like this a secret!"

~ 

...Coming Soon!

__


	4. Dancing Around the Truth

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Gah. One hundred days until graduation — what a scary thought. And that's all I have to say.

Chapter Three — Dancing Around the Truth

December 22, 1997

"Potter?" Someone shook his shoulder, and he woke, blinking through eyelids dried with tears. It took a long moment for him to realize where he was — in the Infirmary, napping at Remus' side — and another for the knowledge of the past day to come crashing down on him.

He squeezed his eyes closed for a long moment, willing the tears away. Snape — Severus Snape, greasy git and spy extraordinaire — was his father. It was a nightmare come true. Harry drew a long, slow breath before opening his eyes.

The nightmare grew worse. Crouched beside the bed was Snape himself, Dumbledore's 1980 diary cluched in his good hand. "P-professor," Harry stuttered, sitting up as quickly as he could. "I was just — I mean, the diary — I read some things about -" He choked on panic and stopped himself, forcing deep breaths.

What was Snape going to say? The professor's eyes were full of dread... He'd read the entry, hadn't he, and knew the truth: his son was a Gryffindor, and Snape would still hate him, and now Harry couldn't sit and imagine what it would be like to live with Lily and James Potter because they weren't actually his parents... Harry buried his face in his hands, trying to stop hyperventilating, but nothing seemed to help. He didn't think he could take any more rejection. "I'm sorry," he hissed, wondering what Snape — no, his FATHER — would say if he burst into tears and ranted over the unfairness of God and the cosmos. "I'm sorry — I should've — but I didn't know, there wasn't anything I could do -"

"No. I'm the one who should be sorry," Snape muttered.

Harry broke off, looking up in shock. It wasn't too late, then? The golden image of a family was back — even if it was a rather greasier family than Harry had imagined, but with Remus hovering on the cusp of life and death, he needed every image of comfort he could conjure up. "Why are you sorry?" Harry asked softly, cursing the waver in his voice.

With a low sigh, Snape cast the book onto Harry's lap and — with a great deal of difficulty — moved from the floor to a seat on the bed next to Remus'. "I should've told you sooner. I shouldn't have kept information about your family from you. And I shouldn't have blamed you for living. I just... I couldn't..." Snape sighed again, rubbing his face with his usable hand.

Harry's tenuous hold on hope gave out. Snape didn't know. The horrid revelation lay in the simple, red book on his lap. "It wasn't your fault," Harry said awkwardly, hoping he was commenting on the correct situation.

"I'm assuming from your... aggitation that you've read as far as your birth. I'd hoped to catch you first... I was going to marry your father's cousin, Po- Harry. We couldn't while the war was on. She was a Slytherin, but fought visibly for the Light. It would've compromised my position... but then we were careless; she refused to tell anyone that I'd fathered the child she was carrying, so when she went into labour, I wasn't there. I was greviously injured in a raid, and when I woke... she was dead, and my son was dead. And you'd been born... alive." Snape trailed into a whisper, looking down at his lap, his greasy strands of hair obscuring his expression.

"She was a Slytherin?" Harry asked lamely. No wonder the Sorting Hat had wanted him there — BOTH of his parents were Slytherins. The Hat must've been having a difficult day indeed, if it gave in to Harry's wishes for Gryffindor.

Harry could see Snape's glare even through the curtain of hair. His father snorted loudly. "Yes, Potter, your family is notoriously Slytherin. Didn't you understand that from the lecture at dinner?" And then Snape stopped speaking abruptly, rubbing at his face again. "I'm sorry. I need to stop doing that... but no matter how many times I remind myself that you weren't at fault for the deaths of my family, I can't help blaming you — and your father, and your mother — for the fact that you lived. And every time someone says your name, it hurts — and every time they say you're the Boy Who Lived, I'm reminded that my boy died... I'm sorry, Potter, but I can't change it. I just — I just thought you should know." Snape stood abruptly, hurrying toward the exit as quickly as his injuries would allow. But then, moments from the door, he turned back to Harry. "I want to read that diary, when you're through. I have to know what happened to Beth. Will you bring it to me, then... please...?"

The query was so heartfelt that Harry could do nothing but agree. However, as soon as Snape was gone, he realized just what he'd agreed to. In a matter of days, Snape would expect the diary in his hands... he'd find out the truth, and know that Harry had hidden it in this conversation...he'd be forced to resurrect old hatreds... he could never like Harry, he'd said as much, just now...

Snape could never know. No matter the lengths he had to go to... Snape would never know.

As Harry cried, the diary sat on his lap, silver date glinting in the light from outside, as if mocking his discoveries. Remus didn't respond to the fresh onslaught of tears, nor did he respond to the wetness soaking into his shoulder, or the warm body curled up and soon asleep from exhaustion at his side. 

~

When he woke again, sun was shining in from the high, arched windows along the back ward of the Infirmary. Harry scooted to a sitting position and glanced around in confusion — he was no longer sleeping at his godfather's side. Someone had come and moved him into the next bed over... The journal was carefully placed on the table beside his bed, and his glasses, which he reached for immediately, had been laid atop the book. Remus' sheets had been changed, too, from white to a soft blue set that Harry hadn't seen before. 

The master of the change, Nymphadora Tonks, was slumped in a wicker chair between the bed, snoring softly, with a volume of charms still open where it had fallen on her lap. Remus, of course, hadn't moved. For a panicked moment, Harry couldn't hear the rough sound of his surrogate uncle's breathing — he lauched himself across the aisle and felt for a pulse, but everything was fine. He hadn't passed away during the night.

Tonks' soft snores were gone, however, and Harry felt a pang of guilt at waking the woman — though the bloody gashes were healed, she was injured still and needed all the rest she could get. "Is something wrong?" Tonks demanded.

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, nothing's changed. I just thought I couldn't hear him breathing... but no, I just wasn't listening. He's okay." He smoothed down Remus' mussy black hair. "As okay as he's been, I mean."

He turned to meet Tonks' gaze, as the Auror set a hand on his shoulder. "Harry... late last night, I ended up with two very worried Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and an annoyed Slytherin on my doorstep. They said you read something in one of Dumbledore's journals and went tearing from the Ravenclaw dorms as though Voldemort himself were on your tail. Well, it wasn't difficult to find you — I would've brought your friends, but Mr. Zabini doesn't know about Remus, of course — but I was wondering what happened..." Tonks trailed off, a compassionate expression on her face.

Rather than blurting out the truth, though Harry wanted help more than anything in the world, he shrugged. "I was just reading a lot about my parents. It was painful." At least that much was true. He supposed he should read the rest of the journals to learn what he could about Snape's dark years, and Elizabeth's parents, and any other bit of information that he could handle. 

Tonks nodded sympathetically, oblivious to the real story. "Minerva thought you'd want to read about James and Lily... it's alright if you take it slowly, though. If it were my parents, I don't think I could bring myself to touch them."

Harry nodded solemnly, glad for the change of topic. "All of this is hard, you know? He left us without a lot of help for what we have to do... and I don't think I can beat Voldemort, not now..."

"Well, at least he's bought us some time. It'll be months before he's regained the strength he spent fighting Dumbledore and the followers he lost through murder and the battle. He certainly didn't have as many followers as in his heyday — He's only made attacks on Dumbledore's followers and on you, not on the Ministry itself, yet. He doesn't have the kind of power he used to, I think." Tonks shrugged. "It's a guess, at least. Lord only knows what sorts of plans he has up his sleeves. We have a bit more time, though. We need to find every answer we can."

"What if the answer's not in the things Dumbledore left behind?" Harry sighed and shook his head, trying to put a cap on his bleak views before they brought him into more of a depression. 

"They will be," Tonks said firmly. Harry wasn't quite sure how she could be so sure of her answer. It seemed to him that the Dark had a very real chance of triumphing, should Voldemort attack tomorrow. They didn't have a plan. "Now, then," the Auror said, giving a strained smile. "You have some very worried friends waiting for you. I'll stay with Remus, right now."

Harry thanked her before snatching up the hated journal and sneaking past Madame Pomfrey's office into the corridors. It was still early, and still empty, as Harry counted portraits and tried to remember whether the princess or the lady-in-waiting opened the Ravenclaw Common Room — but then he noticed the stack of books in the lady's frame, and a bird flitting across the window.

Two redheads, a blonde, and a mousy brunette awaited him in the Common Room. Ron and Blaise were slumbering happily — and a bit loudly, though it was probably Blaise, since Harry had roomed with Ron for six whole years, and his friend had never snored before. Luna was curled up in a chair, blonde hair golden in the light of the fireplace. Ginny, however, was awake and reading. As the sound of the potrait's hinges creaking filled the room, she set the book aside and stormed across the room, poking a finger against Harry's chest as she reached him. "Outside. NOW," she hissed, and Harry didn't dare to do anything but follow.

"'M sorry," he mumbled as the portrait closed — but Ginny certainly wouldn't let him by with that.

"Don't you EVER do that again!" she railed, voice reminding Harry of nothing so much as the Howler Ron had received after crashing the Weasleys' Anglia into the Whomping Willow. "We were sure you'd gone off to have a cry somewhere, and You-Know-Who had showed up and killed you!"

"I did not go off to have a cry," Harry broke in, glaring. Well, it was the truth, but his pride couldn't take a blow like that. Men didn't go off to have a cry.

Ginny glared and pinned Harry up against the wall, her hand splayed across his chest to hold him there. "Don't interrupt, Potter. This isn't a joke. I don't care what you found in that damned book; it doesn't give you the right to put yourself in danger! The castle grows more vulnerable until New Years, when the new Headmistress strengthens the charms for the first time! Weren't you listening at dinner?"

No, of course not. He'd been reading the first of the journals... though, when Ginny was in a rampage, he daren't admit to that. "I wasn't alone," he protested, "I went to visit Remus -"

"Oh, and he'll be able to protect you?" Ginny snapped. Harry's shoulders slumped and he winced as her words hit. It was true... Remus couldn't save him. Remus couldn't even respond to his pain. Remus was barely more alive than Sirius.

Seeing his distress, Ginny took a step back, covering her mouth briefly. "Oh, Harry... I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way... I just meant, you shouldn't go wandering around without me or Luna or Ron, or even the Slytherin. Ron's still jealous, but Blaise looked genuinely worried. We were afraid we'd walk out here this morning, and you'd be... just like Malfoy..."

Harry gulped and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the vivid image of Malfoy's glazed eyes and the pool of blood covering the floor, and the gaping wound slit ear to ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you," Harry whispered. "I just had to get away — I read some things..." Things he didn't intend to tell anyone, not even his friends.

Ginny didn't seem to mind. With a moan of apology, she threw her arms around him. "Harry, don't you ever worry me like that again. Like I said, I don't care what you read in there, it's all ancient history. I don't care what Hermes Potter did, and I don't care that Dumbledore raised your dad, and I certainly don't care what happened in 1980 that's hurt you so, except that it hurt you. I care about YOU, Harry, not your family."

Though she couldn't have known, it was just what he needed to hear. He gave an embarrassed blush and unhooked her arms. "You know, you should be glad Dean's not here over break. He'd have a fit, with you hugging me all the time."

Ginny gave a smirk. "Well, you need them more, and the girl who's wanting to give them to you is too nervous to say a word." 

Before Harry could demand more information, Ginny opened the potrait and frog-marched him through.

~

Ron spent the rest of the morning glaring suspiciously at Harry and his sister, even though he and Ginny were back in the Common Room before Ron woke. However, during Ron's rant about irresponsibilty (which he should've been listening to, himself), Ginny had been standing over her brother's shoulder with Luna and making funny faces at Harry, who had to try very hard not to fall out of his seat laughing. The talk had ended with all five of them adjourning to breakfast and returning to the Upperclass Boy's Dorm in the Ravenclaw Tower to continue with their research. Luna managed to end up with her feet in his lap again, and only that — and Ron's demanding glares — kept him from losing his composure in the face of everything the books revealed.

****

17 February, 1978

__

I believe a whole group of the Slytherin youths to have joined Riddle. Igor Karkaroff is their leader, though Severus Snape and Iscariot Lestrange are probably the brains of the outfit. I cannot help but wonder if there was something I could do to stop it... They've not been branded with Riddle's Mark — I'd be able to feel it — but the whole lot disappeared from the school for several hours last night. A Muggleborn in Hogsmeade was murdered. There's no evidence to turn them in... and dear little Elizabeth is still mooning after Wilkes. Or was it Rosier this week? I don't know how to separate her from them all, but she must not follow the path of Julius and Junior. I'll speak with her mother... but she's a fifth-year, now, nearly a sixth-year. She'll make her own decisions, I'm afraid.

****

22 May, 1978

__

Jim has announced his engagement to charming little Lily Evans, the Head Girl! They're to be married as soon as the term ends — Henry and Grace would be so proud of the both of them. Jim's friend Sirius will be the best man, I believe, and Remus Lupin will stand on Jim's side — Lily's been so gracious as to ask Elizabeth to stand with her, as she's Jim's only blood relative left alive. And I've been asked to preside over the occasion. What joy!

Joy tarnished only by another rash of attacks. The Slytherins I worried about are indeed on Riddle's side — and it's not Rosier or Wilkes I should be afraid of, where Bethy is concerned. Her attentions are firmly attatched to the Snape boy. When he leaves Hogwarts this year, I do hope she'll forget her fixation.

And then Harry read about the wedding, and a rash of attacks involving chemical explosives and other things a Potions Master like Snape would know plenty about. By the time he finished 1978, he had plenty to think about... though an answer to the question of Voldemort's destruction wasn't forthcoming. "Justin, have you been keeping notes on 1979?" Harry asked hesitantly. 1979 would've included a lot of things... like his father's conversion to the Light, and the information that his mother was pregnant, and... and the father of the baby... Harry froze, waiting for Justin's answer.

He didn't see Justin's response, but the cold undertone in the Hufflepuff's voice was enough. "Harry, can we go talk somewhere? There's some things about... about your family in here..."

Harry looked up, scanning those present. Ron and Ginny looked confused, Blaise rather unsurprised, Luna was barely paying attention, and Seth was asleep and snoring. They were all trustworthy, he hoped, because with much more information, they'd all make the connection. "I know what it is, Justin," Harry mumbled. "Er... the whole lot of you should probably hear it. It's sort of what freaked me out yesterday." Well, the sort of' was the truth; he'd get by with avoiding the full truth again. "You see, Snape and my dad's cousin were... involved. I didn't know that until one of the other diaries flipped open, and I read the page — her name was Beth, and she ended up pregnant, and she died just a few days before I was born. So did the baby. So, Snape knows that I know, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him that YOU know, because he'd probably be pretty angry with me for letting it out."

Ron, Ginny, and Blaise had identical gaping expressions on their faces, but Justin's eyes had narrowed a bit. "That's not all Dumbledore said in here. He said he'd done a divining, and you were going to be a girl — and he brought up that prophecy you and Blaise were talking about. And he also said your parents went in for an ultrasound — at least, I think that's what he meant. He couldn't remember the name... but it said you were a girl, too. And with the prophecy, he did the sums and figured you were going to die, and Snape's son was going to live."

"Well, you know how imprecise Divination is," Harry mumbled, trying not to choke. "Guess I'm glad he was wrong... you'd be talking to Henrietta Potter, then, wouldn't you?"

There was a long pause before Blaise burst out laughing, quickly followed by Ron's familiar chuckle and Ginny's giggles. Luna, however, had the same measured expression as Justin on her face. He gave her a strained smile before reaching for the 1980 book and rolling to keep her from reading. He was doomed.

****

19 June, 1980

__

Another school year is soon to end, but I'm afraid my Potions Mistress' assistant had to sneak out earlier than expected. The action has begun, though I shan't write about it in any detail in a document that may be discovered. Suffice to say, I could be committed to Azkaban for what I've forced him into. It's all our lives in the balance. Bethy's due date isn't for another month and a half, but I'm greatly afraid he won't return before then. I'll have to rely on third-hand reports for news.

Lily and Jim went in for another uttersound thing, but it's confirmed what I feared. Their first child is a girl, according to the pictures it took. She appears healthy, but I can sense the struggle she experiences to survive. She won't overcome. And the prophecy tells of the boy who will live to destroy Riddle. I've done the figures again, as my Arithmancy was never the best, but it resulted in the same numbers. I fear I will lose both of Henry's grandchildren.

Blaise was hanging over his shoulder as he read in an alcove of the Ravenclaw Common Room, late in the afternoon. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked, shaking Harry's shoulder. "I'm a master of deception — I can tell when its being used on me."

"Master of deception?" Harry snorted. "Not likely. You're cunning and sneaky, like you should be, but I'd hardly call you a master."

"Eh, can't counter that," Blaise shrugged, swinging around to take a seat across from Harry. "Now, then, stop changing the subject. You were panicking this morning. What's up? It can't be Snape's affair with your cousin."

"Ohhh, it is," Harry said truthfully, closing the book on his lap. "I don't know if you'd understand, though. Even I don't understand most of it. There are two bodies buried down by the lake of people I'm related to, but not in the way I thought. And after reading all of this, I can't look at Lily and James Potter the same, anymore... or Dumbledore. He was the master of deception, Blaise, you wouldn't believe the things he did -"

Blaise snatched the book from Harry's hand and dropped it on his lap, blind to the well-read page it fell open on. "Try me."

Harry froze as 31 July 1980' caught his eye . "Give me the book, Blaise."

"Honestly, Harry, they're just words! They can't hurt you!" Blaise picked up the journal and waved it around before pulling it to his eyes. "Alright, then, listen and trust me... let's see, Elizabeth, my daughter, rest in peace, your son is cared for. James, my son, the boy has the features... of a Potter...'" Blaise's jaw dropped and his eyes scanned the rest of the entry. Harry grabbed for the book, but it was too late. The damage was done. "Oh my God... Potter, you're... you're not a Potter, you're a -"

Harry slammed his hand over Blaise's mouth. "Please, don't say it," he sobbed. "I don't want to hear it! Nobody's supposed to know! I wasn't supposed to know!"

Blaise tore Harry's hand away, keeping his fingers wrapped around the other boy's wrist. "Harry, he's your fecking father! He's gone your whole life thinking you're dead and buried! You can't keep something like this a secret!"

"Well, I'm going to!" Harry snapped. "I'll Memory Charm you if I have to, but it won't get out! He hates me — he's shown me a dozen times; he even told me he blames me for living, and it hurts him every time he hears my name! When I leave this term, he won't even have to think about me again, and he'll be fine -"

"And he'll still mourn for a dead son, when he has a living one!" Blaise shook Harry violently, as though trying to knock sense into him. All he managed to do was knock the Gryffindor's head into the wall.

Harry fumbled for his wand with his off-hand. "So help me, Blaise, I'll Obliviate you, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm doing!"

"I'll keep your secret if you want, Potter," he spat. "God — I thought you wanted a family, but here you are throwing your second chance away, just for spite! I'd see Malfoy doing this, not you — he was talented and he had some morals, but he was still a sod in the end. I thought you had more of a grasp on right and wrong, though. Fuck, Potter, you were definitely Sorted wrong — you belong in Slytherin twice as much as I do. At least I have a conscience." Blaise shoved him back against the wall again and turned to stalk off.

He rubbed at his head, trying to get his eyes to stop tearing up and his hands to stop shaking. He had a conscience, all right — and right now, it was pleading for him to turn the diary over to Snape and accept whatever happened. But fear of the unknown kept him from giving in. Life certainly wasn't fulfilling, but at least he was living and had friends at his back. If Snape got involved, however... However, Blaise had given his word on the matter; he'd said he wouldn't tell Snape.

But could he trust a Slytherin? 

A/N: And next time...

__

"Percy?" Harry demanded, snatching his glasses off to rub at his tired eyes. But no, his first glance had been right: Percy Weasley, former Head Boy of Hogwarts, former lackey of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, had a ponytail and very trendy looking glasses, and was wearing a very tight pair of trousers.

~

Harry's gaze flickered to the blood-stained floor. "Tell me everything. Tell me why_ he died."_

~ 

...Coming Soon!

__


	5. Being a Malfoy

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Mmmm. Weekend. Take a few hours off homework, if you have it, to enjoy V-day!

Chapter Four — Being a Malfoy

December 23, 1997

****

13 August 1979

__

Severus Snape appeared in my office today, and begged to be turned in to the Dementors. I don't know what changed him. There was blood all over his cloak, and the stench of it was overwhelming... I don't know how many he killed, but I have offered him the sanctuary he needs. I won't turn the boy in, not when he's come clean and bared his soul. I'd hoped he'd see the Light for right... I'm in desperate need of an operative, since George McKinnon slipped up. George had a family that suffered for his deception, but Severus has no one — maybe he'll take the place of spy if I offer no other choice. He could flee... but I doubt he'll think of it. Riddle wouldn't think him important enough to follow.

Oh, and I finally convinced Sibyll Margaret Trelawney to join the staff. She doesn't remember the prophecy she gave, that day, which gives me even more reason to believe its accuracy. She was able, however, to give a fairly accurate Tarot reading for a man born on the 24 August 1869 — she believes I've had an interesting run in with a goat. If only she knew Aberforth. Perhaps someday I'll give her my real birth date.

He was settled at Remus' side again, with 1979 settled firmly in his lap and 1980 tucked beneath for safekeeping. In the day since Blaise had discovered the truth, Harry hadn't trusted anyone enough to leave it lying out. Snape was too busy running about — limping about on his imperfect leg, actually — to remember Harry's promise, and Tonks was too busy to spend her time looking after an unresponsive friend. The charms would be boosted in only a week and a half or so. He'd yet to even see Bill and Percy, who were staying in the Staff Wing and spending dinners at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

Justin's suspicions over the writings in 1979 certainly seemed justified. Dumbledore broke the prophecy into pieces, with full Arithmantic notations and calculations — Hermione would've sold her soul for a look at it all — and he'd come up with the prediction that Snape's son would live and James Potter's daughter would die. And since Justin was a Muggleborn, the ultrasound results clinched it: where any pureblood would scoff at Muggle science, Justin would believe. Ginny, Ron, and Blaise probably would've taken the information a bit more seriously... and that was something Harry was definitely thankful for. 

Reading about Binns' death had been intriguing, too. Aurelius Binns, born in 1837, had dozed off in the staff lounge over a pile of ungraded essays... and stepped out of his dead body as a ghost the following morning. That had been the rumor, of course, but stories at Hogwarts generally tended to be stranger than fact. Oddly, for Hogwarts, no foul play had been involved; he simply wasn't ready to stop teaching... so he didn't.

A ginger head ducked around the infirmary door, snapping Harry from his book. "Hallo, Harry... I'm on a break, I was just stopping by to see how you were doing..."

"Percy?" Harry demanded, snatching his glasses off to rub at his tired eyes. But no, his first glance had been right: Percy Weasley, former Head Boy of Hogwarts, former lackey of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, had a ponytail and very trendy looking glasses, and was wearing a very tight pair of trousers. 

It took Harry a long moment to connect the man at the door with the Hogwarts Prefect and during that time, Percy crossed the room and plopped (less than gracefully) onto the bed next to Harry's chair. He made an amused face, tugging at his hair. "It's the ponytail, isn't it? Bill's idea, you know — first I'm living in his flat, then I'm snagging his clothes, and now this. Mum'll have a fit when she sees it, if she's still even talking to me."

"Wow. Egypt agreed with you, then?" He looked frecklier than ever, but happy — and that was really all that mattered. Leaving behind the Ministry and Penelope Clearwater had torn him to pieces, but he'd rebuilt... and seemed much like the kind of person Harry himself would hang around.

Percy grinned and adjusted his glasses. "Yes, I love it there. I do get homesick, but Bill's always around to be big-brothery when I need him. And you — what are you going to do after Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. Really, he hadn't expected to make it this far alive.

"Mmm... well, you could always try an internship in Egypt," Percy winked, slapping Harry's shoulder. "Though... likely you'd tan, rather than picking up spots. You'd have to try the Bill haircut, as well — you'd probably look better in it than I do."

"No, it suits you," Harry assured him. "I'd just look like a git. My hair stands on end all the time, no matter the length."

Percy grinned again, before growing serious for a moment. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your godfather, and about Professor Lupin, here... but just remember what happened to Charlie. He got himself all burned up and in hospital, and now he's off at Beaubaxton and handling the dragons like before. Chin up — he'll come out alright."

"I can only hope," Harry murmured, flicking a glance to Remus. Just as he had on the last check, his breath filled the silence with a rasp. He hadn't moved once after being brought in, that fateful night.

"Ginny told me what happened to Malfoy and the others. And I'm sorry about that, too. What do you think he was up to?" Percy hooked his heels on the metal edge of the bed and rested his arms across his knees pensively. "I don't understand why You-Know-Who would drag Malfoy up to the Common Room just to kill him."

Waxy, dead eyes, and a pool of blood spreading down the hall, and a gaping hole stretching from ear-to-ear — "I'd give anything to know... but nobody was there. We were all inside, waiting." Harry grabbed Remus' limp hand, trying to force the stare from his mind.

"The Fat Lady didn't know anything, then?" Percy asked, frowning. "How odd... You-Know-Who couldn't have just blasted the painting down, since it was in perfectly fine shape..."

"I-I didn't ask her," Harry stuttered, silently cursing himself for being such a fool. Of course she'd have seen — she saw everything that happened in that hall! "Hey, Percy, it's been very nice talking to you, but I'm going to -"

Percy nodded swiftly, getting to his feet. "Go. Just tell me what Malfoy died for — we all want to know. He might deserve to be remembered for something other than hate."

Harry nodded and tossed both the diaries onto Remus' bedside table. "I'll be back to get these, alright? They're the ones I was assigned." He waited only for Percy's patient nod before making a dash for the door.

The Gryffindor corridor was empty, just as Harry had anticipated. He supposed he probably shouldn't be wandering around the corridors alone, but it was daylight, and he was seventeen-bloody-years-old. "Excuse me?" Harry asked the painting, panting a little after crossing the castle at a run. "I've got a question — did you see what happened out here? The night the boy died?"

The stately woman nodded slowly, before seating herself at the edge of the painting. "I saw it all. I heard it all. No one has asked yet — so simply ask. What do you wish to know?"

Harry's gaze flickered to the blood-stained floor. "Tell me everything. Tell me _why_ he died."

"He'd been skulking around for weeks," the Fat Lady admitted, "hiding behind that suit of armour across the hall. I'm sure he knew the password by the night He Who Must Not Be Named entered the school. I suppose he was supposed to furnish my password to the Dark Lord."

"But he didn't," Harry whispered.

She shook her head. "No. Indeed, he didn't. He came here at the head of a line of Black Robes. The Dark Lord — he had such terrible eyes — was following him. I hid behind my chair, here, but I have my sworn duty to uphold; if he had the password, I am required to let him in. So he asked the boy for it. And the boy turned to him and said, I'll give you the password, if you promise only to kill Potter. Let the others live.'"

His life had never been worth much to his arch-rival... but the safety of the Gryffindors? All of them? "And then Voldemort grabbed him and killed him?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't that painless," the Fat Lady whispered, eyes wide and voice full of drama. "No, the Dark Lord shoved the boy back against the wall, beneath the landscape there, and threatened him. And then one of the Black Robes came forward and pleaded with the boy. But he stood up to them both, insisting that only you were to die, and perhaps the teachers guarding you; he was very stubborn about the other Gryffindors living."

So Lucius Malfoy had been there, and had tried to talk his son out of the suicidal course he'd embarked upon. Oddly enough, Harry didn't mind that Malfoy had been bartering for his death. Had the promise been accepted, it meant Ron and Hermione would've lived.

The Fat Lady took up the tale again, oblivious to Harry's thoughtful expression and gaze resting on the stained floor. "The Dark Lord took out his wand and told the boy, If you will not part with the information the easy way, then you will do it the hard way.' And he shoved the boy out into the middle of the room and held him under the Cruciatus Curse for a good four or five minutes before the boy finally gave in. He yelled out the password, so I had to open... oh, I was so sad for him. He tried so hard, but resisting a Dark Lord is nearly impossible."

"What happened then?" Harry demanded, as the Fat Lady's story lulled for a moment. Why kill Malfoy after he'd lost the battle of wills?

"He sent the first of his troops into the Common Room — I'll bet you remember that, since I heard all sorts of fighting from inside. Then he, one Black Robe, and the boy remained, along with about twelve Black Robes standing apart. Take this as a message to you,' he said to the Black Robes. I am the Dark Lord, and I will not be disobeyed.' And then he pulled out a very wicked looking dagger, covered with all sorts of runes and blood. He pulled the boy up to his feet — the Black Robe near them fell to his knees and started begging for the boy to be spared — and then he grabbed the boy's hair, yanked his head back, and slit his throat. Oh, there was blood everywhere... there's still blood everywhere. That poor boy... he tried so hard, the dear."

"What did Lucius Malfoy do? The Black Robe, the one who begged for the boy's life?" He'd died days later, at his own hand, with a picture of Draco in his pocket.

The Fat Lady seemed on the verge of tears. "He screamed... such a cry of pain I haven't heard since the 70's. The boy was already dead, but he held the body as the rest of the Black Robes went in to fight. He was weak,' the Dark Lord said, and we should've rid ourselves of him years ago.' Then the Dark Lord went inside, too. I closed the potrait hole, but I could hear what the Black Robe said over the creaks. He said, I'll be avenged, do you hear me? He'll be avenged.' And then he left the body there and fled. And the boy's eyes... they stared up at me all day. I can't forget his eyes."

"Neither can I," Harry murmured. He mused over Lucius' words, but they meant nothing: Lucius and Draco Malfoy were dead, along with Draco's mother. None would be avenged.

"You shouldn't be out in the halls, dear," the potrait scolded, dabbing at her eyes with a frilly handkerchief. "Go on back to the Tower you're all staying in. Get some rest and stop thinking about the poor boy who died here. He showed courage worthy of a Gryffindor, I daresay."

Harry thanked her before wandering back in the direction of the Ravenclaw Common Room, with its high-vaulted ceilings and peaceful blue murals, forgetting the journals sitting at Remus' bedside. Draco would be rolling in his grave after that: courage of a Gryffindor? No... it sounded as though he'd shown the loyalty and determination of all Slytherin House. He'd cunningly devised a plan to keep casualties to a minimum... he'd given his Housemates time to hide... and he'd given his life doing it. Though he'd gag himself before admitting it, Draco Malfoy had been a hero.

~

"Harry, we're heading down for dinner," Ginny called, as Harry climbed through the Ravenclaw portrait hole. "Where have you been all day?"

If he told her the truth, that he'd been sitting on the edge of the North Tower and watching the sunset, thinking over everything he'd learned, they'd probably get in another row over his nocturnal wanderings and the dangers they entailed. The sunset had been spectacular, especially for the lateness of the year. Deep reds hung over the trees, the same colour as Malfoy's blood as it spread across the corridor floor. But the sunset faded into soft oranges and pinks, and finally to black. Short, exciting, before it was gone in an instant. "Visiting," he muttered, hoping she'd take the hint. It looked as though all of the young Slytherins were camped out in the Common Room in force, each holding their journal and a notepad. Norah, the third-year Ravenclaw, looked at home in their midst. The older students were clustered in the back, but for one — Zabini was missing.

Ron didn't seem to notice the Slytherin's absence. He chucked the journal he was reading on a table and crossed the room in an instant. "How's he doing, mate?" he asked, lowering his voice so the Slytherins wouldn't hear.

"No change," Harry reported dully. And there wasn't likely to be. If Remus had awakened, Harry would've been the first told, no matter where he was in the castle. "Read anything interesting?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm almost done with my set. It sounds like your dad and Sirius made as much trouble as my brothers. Kinda creepy, too — I read all about when Snape nearly got killed by Lupin. Did you know that Dumbledore almost expelled Sirius? But your grandad convinced him not to."

"I didn't know," Harry admitted. "Well, I'm almost done with my volumes, too. I'm ready to start on 1981, and 82's really thin. I'm a little nervous about reading what happened... you know, on Halloween..."

"I know," Ron said, nodding. He slapped Harry's shoulder. "Well, food now? Professor McGonagall told me she was springing for Indian takeout for the whole lot of us... she sent Percy and Bill to Apparate into London — Tonks too; I think she's made herself look like another Weasley. I hope she remembered to ask for nan."

"Sounds scrummy to me," Harry grinned. "So where's Blaise? He coming too?"

Luna ducked over, very calmly hooking her arm with Harry's. He froze, unsure exactly what the Ravenclaw was trying to do. "He's been upstairs all afternoon. He's taking all this research very seriously."

"Well, he's the last of his year. This research just might keep him alive... not to mention all the first- and second-years. He's got a lot hanging on what he learns, and with the section he has, he's the most likely to find an answer," Harry said, shrugging. 

"It's his own fault if he misses dinner," Ron griped. "Let's go! It's been fecking ages since I had real Anglicised Indian food!"

"Ron, watch your language!" Ginny snapped, punching her brother in the shoulder. "Mum would wash your mouth out!"

Ron snorted. "Right after she was done with yours," he countered. "What did you call Snape the other day? A mother fu -"

"Ron!" she shrieked, clapping her hand over his mouth, "that's enough! You weren't supposed to repeat that!"

Though he'd said plenty of horrible things about his Potions Master before, the comment strangely stung. He slipped away from Luna while she was busy watching Ginny grappling with her brother. "Go on ahead," he said, just loudly enough to get their attention. "I'm going to go find Blaise... don't wait up..."

He thought he heard Ron asking what was wrong, but he took the tower stairs two at a time to put the family bonding behind him. Maybe Blaise had been right. He _did_ want a family, more than anything in the world, and he'd turned it all down just because Snape was Snape. Just because he was cranky, badly groomed, and miserly didn't mean he wouldn't care about his son... He thought about Lucius Malfoy and the story the Fat Lady told of Draco's death. Even Lucius Malfoy had cared, in the end.

"Are you in there, Zabini?" he called, shoving the door of their dorm open.

He wasn't sitting on his bed. He wasn't anywhere near his own possessions, in fact. Blaise was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Harry's trunk, which was open. And Harry's most prized possession, the photo album that Hagrid had given him so many years earlier, was lying open across his lap.

"You know, going through someone's things is generally considered rude," Harry snapped, storming across the room to snatch the album away.

Blaise held it out of reach. "I saw you looking through it after we moved up here. Quit being a wanker and look."

Rather than argue — Blaise would certainly win a physical fight, and Harry didn't want to damage the album — he took a seat next to the Slytherin. "That was their wedding," he said lamely, as if the other boy couldn't tell from the bride and groom in the photo's centre. "Professor Lupin took that one. That's their best man standing behind them... and see Dumbledore over in the corner? Hey, McGonagall's crying — I didn't notice that before." And indeed, the uptight Head of Gryffindor House was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief as Hagrid patted her shoulder.

"Not them. Her." Blaise pointed at a figure standing in the corner, just slightly apart from the rest of the crowd. "It's your mum."

Harry tugged the book from Blaise's hands, and this time Blaise let go. He leaned down for a closer look. She was dressed like the other bridesmaids, in pale lavender, and her deep black hair was pinned up in flattering curls. She was wearing glasses, just like James', and her smile seemed a little uncomfortable when compared to Sirius, James, or Lily. It was difficult to tell from the tiny photo... but her eyes looked green. Not the shocking emerald that caused so many people to compare Harry's eyes to Lily's... but green all the same. Just like Harry. "I look like her," he said softly.

Blaise snorted. "Well, we could put you in a curly wig to make sure, but I'd say it's a match. It's the chin — your chin's different than James', but it's just like hers. Around the eyes, though... I can see your resemblance to him. It's not overwhelming or anything, but it's there. You're definitely your father's son."

"You're just trying to get me to tell him," Harry accused, but it was a half-hearted attempt at an argument. "What do you think he'll say?"

"I don't know," Blaise responded honestly, shrugging. "You could just give him the diary and let him read for himself, while you're standing there. But hey, the worst he could do is reject you — and he's done that plenty of times already, wouldn't you say?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Very true. Every Monday, Thursday, and Friday at three o'clock." He looked down at the picture again. "I'm sorry I threatened to erase your memory."

"Yeah, well, don't mention it," Blaise said. "It was a common threat in the Slytherin Common Room, I'll get over it. It's easy to forget you're a tightlaced Gryffindor sometimes."

"And it's easy to forget you're a good-for-nothing Slytherin, especially when you're nice to me," Harry shot back. He paused. "Blaise... I went and talked to the Gryffindor portrait today..." he began, hesitantly. When Blaise didn't interrupt with a smart-ass comment, he continued. "She watched Draco's murder."

The mirth left his face instantly. "Tell me," he commanded.

"I can't repeat it all. It was painful enough to hear the first time; you can go ask her if you're really needing to hear the gruesome details... but she told me that Voldemort was using Draco as a spy... he learned the Gryffindor password by hiding in the area, and was supposed to let Voldemort in. But Draco refused to tell it. He tried to make Voldemort promise not to hurt the rest of the Gryffindors... I'd have been dead, but I couldn't figure out why Draco wouldn't want the rest of my House gone. But, whatever the reason, Voldemort tortured him until he gave the password, and then killed him for a lesson." Harry sighed, focusing on the picture of his mum rather than the vision of blood and sightless eyes.

He saw Blaise nodding out of the corner of his eye. "I think he fancied Parvati Patil. Or maybe her sister. But either way, Parvati dying probably would've killed Padma. Maybe that wasn't the reason at all, though. Maybe Snape asked him to keep as many students as possible safe. Or maybe he felt guilty about it."

"Each answer leads to more questions," Harry muttered. "He... died for something greater than himself, though. I think that deserves mention."

"He'll be mentioned," Blaise said. "I think I'll start asking other portraits what happened to my Housemates. That was a bloody good idea. And then, on the memorial, we can write down their stories."

"Not my idea," Harry admitted. "It was Percy's. I wouldn't have thought of it."

Blaise gave a half-grin. "Well, that's the difference between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin... you admit it wasn't your idea, while I'd take full credit for it. Whose-ever idea it was, it's a good one. I don't want them all to be forgotten."

"They won't ever be forgotten," Harry affirmed. "Once it's all over... somebody will make sure of that." He slowly closed the album and set it aside. "Ron said Percy, Bill, and Tonks are Apparating to London for takeaway. Have you had Muggle-style Indian takeaway before, Blaise?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Grew up with a house-elf. Mum and Dad'd kill me if they knew I was eating Muggle stuff. But hell, they're not alive to hear about it, anyhow."

"Your parents are — I'm sorry, I didn't know," Harry stuttered.

Blaise climbed to his feet and offered Harry a hand. "I'm staying here for a reason, you know. And that's the real reason why I think you should talk to Snape. I know just what you're missing... and look what happened to him when You-Know-Who got ahold of him? If the Dark Lord gets a hand on him again... you won't have a father to tell."

The walk to the Great Hall was in silence, but good company. And though Snape wasn't there, Harry made his resolution: before New Years' Day, he'd admit the truth. The thought of Snape as his father would just take a little getting used to, first.

It wasn't until much later that he remembered where he'd left the journals.


	6. Slytherins Lurking

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Meeep. Apologies for the lateness — I was out of town on Saturday and nearly was blown up, then work-filled on Sunday, and then Twisting the Hellmouth went down... I'll update on Saturday like normal, however. Here's the chapter many have been asking for...

Chapter Five — Slytherins Lurking

Snape didn't appear for the rest of the meal, as well. "Must not like curry," Ginny had suggested.

"Yeah, he's had to put so many wonky things in potions that he can't tell what's what anymore," Ron grinned, trying to raise a laugh among the students. It didn't work, and only caused McGonagall to frown down the table at him disapprovingly.

"Hey, Pip, could you pass the nan?" Harry asked. It was a long moment before the Hufflepuff girl — a fifth-year, actually named Phillippa — shook herself aware enough to scoot the plate down the table. She, like most of the other female students, was staring dreamy-eyed at the combination of Bill and Percy Weasley. Harry wouldn't have believed it, two years earlier — but really, the absurdly tight pants were probably drool-worthy for the girls, cut off from most of what was happening outside. Harry, of course, thought they looked like prats.

When Ginny was safely chatting with Ron, Blaise leaned over to Harry. "Are you going to track him down after supper?"

He shook his head lightly. "Not tonight. I'm finishing the journals first. You know — I want to see if anything else has been kept quiet before giving it all up. I'm going to read... that night first. Get it over with. Never have to look at it again."

"You won't want to be doing that with a lot of people around, I suppose. Want me to scare everyone out of the room?" the Slytherin offered. "Hold up a sec." He turned and glared at the first-year sitting by his side. "Marin, do you REALLY want to listen in on my conversations? Cause I know you think you're being sneaky, but the giggles and ankles dug in my shin really aren't helping your cause."

"I'm not!" the little brunette protested, but she scooted her chair away from Blaise's to sulk. At least the Slytherin first-years, unlike the Gryffindors, tended to listen to their upperclass Housemembers.

Blaise gave a snort and turned back to Harry. "Little bit's been trying that for ages. But listen, mate, I'll do it if you need the space."

Harry grinned. "No, actually... I'd like someone else there. Maybe not Gin or Ron — he'll act like a prat if I lose my composure — but I don't want to be alone." The smile faded quickly and he lowered his voice even more. "Even though they're not — you know, my parents — they still died for me. They loved me as a son because to them, I was. I'm afraid to read what he'll say about them."

"I'll be there," Blaise promised. 

~

And he was as true as his word. When they all headed back to the Ravenclaw Tower — they only a day or so remaining there — Harry headed directly for the dormitory. Within a few minutes, Blaise appeared alone. "It's done. They won't come up here until I tell them it's clear." He launched himself onto his bed and pulled out one of his journal volumes.

"What did you tell them?" Harry asked. "Usually, Ginny ignores helpful suggestions."

Blaise grinned. "Oh, just told them all we were planning on shagging each other senseless." When Harry started spluttering in indignation, Blaise burst into laughter, waving his hand. "I'm kidding, Potter! Kidding! I told them you were going to read about your parents' death, and I was going to sit out and keep watch. They're bright enough to understand you needed some quiet time for that..."

"Well, thanks..." Harry gave a rueful grin. "I needed that. I think I'll be needing a lot of humor before the night's over... so what are you reading?" 

"Ahh, good old 1994... Just so you know, Potter, he really didn't have a clue about the whole Triwizard thing. He was horrified that your name was drawn. It's the only reference since your volumes about your father being your father. If there were a way to break a wizarding contract, I would release Harry from what has happened... all we've worked for may end in vain, should he die. And I can't help but wonder — if Severus had raised his boy, how would he have turned out? Dangerous thoughts; I best not write them here.' Wicked, huh? He thought you were way important." Blaise stretched exaggeratedly and puffed up his pillows. "I'll read now... let me know if you need something."

Harry smiled weakly and grabbed 1981 from the floor. He paged through... there was no entry on Halloween itself, but the next day was certainly full.

****

1 November, 1981

__

The prophecy is completed, the boy is marked. My dear little Jim is dead... and his wife is gone with him, her sacrifice, I believe, the one to ultimately allow little Harry to live. Riddle cursed him, and the Killing Curse bounced right off... and rebounded onto the Dark Lord. Riddle, I am glad to say, is banished — banished, not dead, since Severus retains the Mark (which he showed me only an hour ago) and the dear little boy carries a scar from his ordeal. I'll deposit him at Lily's relatives home this eve... but right now, the last Potter descendant is sleeping on my lap. I was so fortunate for him to be born looking so like his mother, and so little like his father...

The ruse must be kept, making the Muggles the best guardians for him. We will need him to destroy Riddle in the end, I believe. He has a darker side, I can feel it even as he lies asleep... I fear Riddle's touch has fouled the boy. Though magically no safer with the Muggles than with any wizard on the street, everyone knows of the power of blood ties, and no one would dare attack him there for it. That which protected him in the end was blood magic... his mother died to give him life at birth, his uncle, of sorts, died to protect him, and Lily — who truly believed herself to be his mother, and thus tied herself to him magically — gave the last bit of love needed. That is the difference between Harry and the McKinnon children, I believe. Though their mother gave her life, she was one person, while three were Harry's protectors.

To truly destroy Riddle, it may take a second, more powerful instance of the rebounded Death Curse. With Harry as an adult... the sacrifice of his father and myself, I who am related now by my loyalty to my dear, departed Henry and Edward, may be just enough to swing the tide... if another few can be enlisted, nothing can harm him, and Riddle himself will fall.

The entry went on for a few pages, raging over Sirius' percieved betrayal, but Harry didn't even catch the rest of it. Breathlessly, he snatched a sheet of parchment from his bedside table and copied down the third paragraph of the entry, changing only a few words. He doubted Snape would ever give his life for Harry... but Dumbledore already had. The protection was now there. How many more sacrifices would be needed?

"What is it?" Blaise asked, looking up from his journal in curiousity. "Is it about your father?"

"It's a theory," Harry half-explained. "I'm going to McGonagall. I'll be back." He didn't wait for Blaise's response and, instead, tore down the stairs and through the crowded Common Room as fast as he could sprint. Ginny's shout of alarm couldn't stop him, nor could the foreboding corridors of the darkened school.

What did stop him, however, was tall, snarky, and robed in black, and headed around a corner in a self-consumed daze. It felt like a bad comedy film as Harry rounded the corner, slammed face-first into a black mass, and went sprawling across the floor. The first thing he set eyes on were a familiar pair of scuffed black boots, which Harry had stared at in countless potions classes as he avoided looking at the owner's eyes. "Oh! Professor Snape — I'm sorry, I didn't mean to — I was hurrying to find Professor McGonagall, it's an emergency -"

Snape pulled himself to his feet and dusted his robes off with his good hand; his crippled arm seemed to permanently hang in a black sling, but his limp seemed almost gone. "A seventeen-year-old should have the forethought to watch where he walks. Especially you. Anything could be waiting around a corner for you."

Harry flushed and grabbed up his slip of parchment, which had fallen to the floor with him. He brushed off his knees and started to get to his feet when he caught sight of two thin books lying where Snape had fallen. He grabbed them up. "Here, Professor, you dropped these -" he began, holding out the volumes, but he broke off abruptly as the torchlight of the corridor glinted off of a gold 1980' inscribed in the cover of the top book. A wave of dread swept over him. "Wh-where did you find these?" he croaked, trying to keep his hand from visibly shaking in fear.

"Black's bedside. I went for a potion. For my leg. Poppy told me I should take it daily... it's helped..." Snape muttered. He almost seemed to be babbling, as he trailed off.

He couldn't bring himself to meet his father's eyes. "H-have you r-read it?" he stuttered, focusing on the shining numbers. Harry snatched the books to his chest, in the off chance he hadn't. He could always claim he wasn't finished with the journal... but he _was_, and he'd decided he was going to tell Snape; it was just that now, with the chance hanging before him, it was so much harder than in theory.

There was a long uncomfortable pause. Harry refused to move and show the professor how nervous it was making him, and he was still too terrified to see Snape's expression. He could feel the Potions Master's eyes on him, however. It seemed an eternity before his father responded, and it was in a low tone; impossible to tell the emotion behind its monotone. "Why didn't you tell me before? Did you know?"

It was all Harry could do to keep from bursting into childish tears, and what an impression _that_ would make. "N-not until I read the journal. I didn't know — I didn't know my- that James had a cousin, even. I finally got Tonks to tell me about James' family, but I never thought... wh-why would he do something like that? Wasn't he supposed to be the L-light Side? Noble, and honest, and -"

"Why didn't you tell me when you read it?" the other man asked, cutting off Harry mid-babble, his voice still utterly monotone.

Harry took a deep breath, pondering just what to say. All he could find was the truth... no matter how immature and unlike a Gryffindor it sounded. "I was afraid," he whispered. "I was afraid that you wouldn't... that you'd still hate..." He trailed off with a shrug, unable to finish the sentence without losing what was left of his composure. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself look up at the professor.

As the silence stretched on, he couldn't stop a tear. Before he could dart a sleeve up to wipe it away, a callused hand settled itself on his cheek, thumb brushing away the tear for him. And Harry lost his composure entirely. He couldn't look at Snape — not now, in the middle of his shame — but he made sure the tears were silent, as only eleven years straight of living in the cupboard under the stairs, hounded by abusive relatives, could teach him. "I don't know why he did it," the professor's voice came, somehow gentler yet somehow steelier than before, "but if he wasn't dead, I'd kill him for it. I've been mourning needlessly for seventeen years." His voice broke over the last words.

With that, Harry finally drew the courage to sneak a glance at his father. What he saw shocked him: the rims of Snape's eyes were red. As if he'd only been waiting to meet his son's eyes for action, he lightly took hold of the young man's chin and met his gaze. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. I could never hate you for what happened. I can hate Albus, and I DO hate Albus for it, and it was alright to be scared because I've never been anything but awful, but it wasn't your fault."

Harry sniffed loudly, trying not to let snot dribble down his nose and make the scene any worse, when he found himself soundly enclosed in a one-armed hug. It was one of few he'd been given in seventeen years of life, and though he was sure James and Lily Potter had hugged him before their deaths, he'd never once been hugged by a parent. So it was, with more than a little shock involved, that he finally hugged back.

He had no sense of how much time had passed before his father pulled back and dug a handkerchief from a pocket, which Harry gratefully took. "Have you told anyone else?"

"I didn't tell him, but Blaise knows. He snagged the journal and started reading it. I think Justin and Luna suspect something's wrong, but Ron's too daft to -" He broke off with a hiccup, and blushed.

Snape gave a half smile — not a smirk, but a true, if somewhat strained, smile that probably hadn't been worn for years. "Let's find you something to eat. I've some tea and biscuits in my office, I think. I doubt you'll want to go back to your room like that."

Harry nodded and hiccuped again, letting Snape lead him with a tentative hand to his shoulder. The silence between them seemed a little uncomfortable, as Harry searched for something profound to say. What he came up with and blurted out before he could stop himself, seemed anything but. "Wh-why am I a Gryffindor?" He hiccuped, cutting himself off and blushing furiously at the stupidity of his question.

Snape gave a snort. "From your expression, I doubt I'll need to give that an answer. But I will anyway. Yes, children often end up in the same House as their parents... but it's a question of nurture, not nature. Those Muggles you lived with; as they were Evans' family, I'm quite sure they gave you better care than an ex-Death Eater would've managed -"

"No, not at all," Harry broke in, as sincerely as he could manage when he was still being interrupted every few moments by a hiccup. "I mean, I understand that people thought that, but it wasn't true. The Dursleys were terrible — I hated them, they made me sleep in the cupboard with the spiders, and after Hagrid told me I was a wizard, they put bars on my window to keep me from getting back for my second year of school, and Dudley's the size of a small whale so they put him on a diet of just grapefruit and I had to eat it too, only they gave me smaller pieces so he wouldn't be angry -" Harry cut himself off, with that. "'M sorry, I'm babbling," he whispered. 

The hand on his shoulder had tightened with each reported abuse. "If he wasn't dead, I'd kill him," Snape muttered under his breath. "I'd kill him. July 29!" he barked.

Harry looked up in confusion, only to note the door to Snape's office swinging open. "The password — it's the day my mother -"

"Yes," he said shortly, ushering Harry inside. "And the day you were born. And the day I thought you died." Snape seemed to choke on the words, and his fingers found the back of Harry's head, brushing through his hair as if to reassure himself that Harry really did exist. "I never wanted to forget," he said in explanation.

Harry sat down on the seat Snape led him to and stayed silent, except for a stray hiccup, as a large pot of tea was conjured up and a package of chocolate digestives — the kind in the can, Harry's favourite — found its way out of a desk drawer. "What happens now?" he blurted out.

"I don't know," Snape responded. "I'm trying to decide whether or not to piss on his grave, at the moment." There was a beat as he poured the tea. "D-do you want to tell anyone?"

The stutter and the shaking of Snape's hand as he passed cup and saucer to Harry were plenty to alert him to how important Snape found the question. "Well, Blaise knows," he said lamely, knowing it wasn't a true answer. Snape wouldn't meet his gaze. Harry gulped. "W-well, we should p-probably tell Professor McGonagall first. I mean, if anyone should know... if that's what you want..." Harry stuttered, trying desperately to gauge his father's mood.

"I was coming to find you, tonight," Snape confessed. Harry was sure the seeming nonsequitar would lead somewhere, so he remained silent. "I read the journal over dinner, and it took me a long time to decide whether or not you'd want to acknowledge me. After all, I'm hardly parenting material. I was scared to death when Bethy told me she was pregnant; I was scared to death every moment I stood in front of Voldemort, because I knew what would happen to Bethy if he found out, but the moment I woke on the 30th of July and Albus told me I'd lost both of you... I spent seventeen years mourning, and I won't rob myself of the chance, however slim, that you'd actually want me for a relative, let alone your father. If-if you don't want to tell anyone, I'll — I'll pretend I never read it. If that's what you want." Snape's hand was shaking so violently that tea was spilling over the edge of his cup, held tightly in his grasp.

What else could Harry do? He set his own cup aside and reached across the table to pry his father's fingers from the cup, and set it aside, dabbing the scalding liquid from his father's callused fingers with his sleeve. "I want to tell McGonagall," Harry said softly. He heard Snape's sob of relief. "I don't know when the time will be right to tell Ginny and Ron. I don't know how they'll react. B-but I know Blaise is happy, and- and that's something, right?"

Snape grasped Harry's hands tightly. "If she really cares about you, she'll care no matter who your family is. And if he can't accept who you are, then he's worthless as a friend."

Harry forced a bitter laugh. "It's easy to say that, isn't it? Not so easy to believe it."

"No matter how hard it is, it's an important thing to remember," Snape replied. He moved his hand to hold Harry's cheek again, the gesture of more comfort than Harry could've imagined. "Now, then... didn't you say in the hall that you were on your way to see McGonagall in any case?"

He jerked upright in shock. "Oh! I shouldn't have forgotten! In Dumbledore's journal — in 1981, he wrote that maybe it was the combined sacrifice of — of my mother, James, and Lily that saved me. That three sacrifices were more powerful than one. And he thought that maybe, if the circumstances of Halloween 1981 could be duplicated with enough sacrifices made, the curse could bounce off two or three times more powerfully and destroy Voldemort completely..." He paused, considering what he'd just said. Harry gave a sigh, shaking his head. "It's not any more of a plan than we had before. I'm so stupid, I should've realized what the whole deal entailed, and even though Dumbledore already sacrificed himself to protect me, it doesn't mean anyone else -"

"Harry," Snape said firmly, cutting him off, "even that theory could help us, in the end. Now let's go to Professor McGonagall. Bring the 1980 journal, I think it would be easier for her to just read it."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, still trying to deal with the thought of anyone else being forced to give their lives for Harry to live one more time. Snape set aside his tea and rounded the table, tugging Harry to his feet. He followed blindly, letting the hand on his shoulder guide him. It wasn't a dream — and the moment McGonagall knew the truth, it would be firmly reality. Even the concept of it all was hard to grasp.

Snape was his father. Professor Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, was his dad. And Severus Snape, Slytherin and former enemy, had loved his mother very much and had deeply mourned for seventeen years the life of his son. He had a dad, and his dad cared. Somehow, even if it was Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater and Slytherin, that meant the world.

A/N: There. Snape and Harry, family, aww. But if you think this is the end, you obviously aren't familiar with the rest of my work.... Angst ahead!


	7. Plaid Dreams

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Just as promised, the Saturday chapter.

Chapter Six — Tartan Dreams

December 23, 1997

Professor McGonagall had most certainly been asleep. Dumbledore would've been able to hide it somehow, but when Snape banged on her door with Harry shifting nervously on his feet at his father's side, the Headmistress Elect appeared at the door wearing a tartan dressing gown, tartan cap and, of course, tartan slippers. Harry was amused to note that they were furry. "It's urgent," Snape growled before McGonagall could snap at them for waking her. 

She studied them both carefully before nodding and stepping aside to let them enter her rooms. Harry, of course, had never been inside any professor's private apartments before, so he took a moment so peer around at the artefacts present. The only magical household he'd spent time in was the Weasley's, and McGonagall was noticeably neater than Ron and Ginny's family. Almost everything was decorated in red and gold — it was even more garish than the Gryffindor Common Room after they'd won a Quidditch match against Slytherin, and that was certainly saying something. Harry really was fond of his House colours... but McGonagall had taken it much too far. It looked as though a cat had run through and sicked up in vivid red and gold over everything. "Please, have a seat," she offered, waving over at a set of chairs and a sofa next to a fireplace with a gold façade. "What's happened?"

The upholstery was plaid. As McGonagall took a seat across from him, Harry suddenly felt dizzy — the woman's entire outfit blended perfectly against the chair. "Harry found something while he was reading Albus' journals..." his father prompted.

Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the gaudy décor without being sick, for which he was quite proud of himself. "I... well, I was sorting through the pile of journals and 1980 fell open... I read the entry it opened to... er..." He gulped, at a loss as to how to explain the whole mess.

Snape's frown and snort of derision, often seen in class, were oddly comforting. "Go ahead. Give her the journal."

He nodded nervously and let the pages fall open in his hand before passing the journal to McGonagall's grasp. As she read, no doubt starting from the top of the page, Harry noticed that his hands were shaking with nerves. His father noticed and reached out his good hand to pat Harry's, comfortingly.

It wasn't difficult to know the moment at which McGonagall reached the revelation in the entries. She let out a cat-like shriek of shock and her hand fluttered to her mouth, eyes wide and locked on the page before her. "Oh, Albus... oh, how could you," she murmured. "This... this is real, correct? This isn't some prank?"

"I authenticated it tonight, just after dinner. Unless Albus decided to lead us astray in his own journal... then yes, it's the truth. William didn't die." Snape choked on the words, then snagged Harry's hand almost reflexively in a search for comfort. "Th-that's what we were going to name you," he murmured to the boy, cutting McGonagall out of the conversation entirely. "Bethy chose it. Your grandfather's mother's family had a tradition of naming their children after royals: Edward, Henry, James, Elizabeth, William... were you a girl, you'd have been Anne." Harry couldn't help but smile at the earnest expression on his face.

"Severus," McGonagall interrupted, "while I'm sure this is all very fascinating to Harry — er, William — er... whatever his name is now, this is — this is very, very serious. This is dangerous."

Though Harry would have thought it impossible, Snape paled a good three or four shades. "How is it dangerous? He's — he's my son, but he's still of the Potter line, too. It doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything," McGonagall snapped. "If one of those nasty reporters got wind of this... Severus, it's on record that you were tried as a Death Eater. Harry Potter cannot be connected to a Death Eater! The public is alreadly losing trust in -"

"Damn the public!" Snape broke in. "I've given eighteen years of my life to Albus! He's dead now and my cover's blown — he stole my son from me and I'll gladly piss on his grave for it, but I won't let the good of the public keep me miserable!"

McGonagall's mouth was hanging open. She looked too shocked to respond, so Harry finally let himself make a remark. "It doesn't matter whose son I am... does it? I mean, that doesn't change what I have to do or anything, so why is it so dangerous?"

"We need the support of the public," McGonagall managed to answer, still glaring daggers at Snape, "in order to mobilise the numbers needed to face off with You Know Who. Albus' death hurt us, but he's left a wealth of battle plans to me, and underworld contacts, and all sorts of useful information. He'll still lead us to victory. But victory relies on you, Harry, being able to stand as the Boy Who Lived to rally the troops. They need a figurehead — and as the son of an accused Death Eater, you won't make much of a hero."

So that's what the little paragraph in 1981 had actually meant: if Harry went off to some sort of magical battle and hundreds of troops sacrificed themselves to keep him alive... then in the end, the Light would win. He handed over the piece of paper before he forgot it. "I found that. It was part of Dumbledore's plan," he reported dully.

McGonagall nodded and didn't even read it. "You can't tell anyone. Either of you. I should probably just... I can't just Obliviate the both of you, it's illegal... but ohhh, this could destroy everything , should word get out. You can't tell a soul!"

His father snarled and looked ready to fight until the end, but Harry squeezed his hand and shook his head until Snape, looking affronted, fell silent. "When we win, then... can I tell whomever I want? Whomever we want?" he demanded. "When Voldemort's gone, it won't matter who knows."

"Certainly," McGonagall said, "but not before. It places everything in danger."

Snape looked ready to cry and attack at the same time. "Harry?" he murmured, the pain and tears thick on his voice.

"We have to win," Harry said in explanation and apology. "If we don't... then it won't really matter who we told, because Voldemort will kill us both the moment he has an unimpeded shot. Don't you see? I'm — I'm not ready to die yet, and this way gives us a chance."

"Alright," Snape said, choking on the words. "I won't tell anyone. I'll — I'll treat you like you're still — his son. Are you happy?"

Harry wasn't sure whom the question was aimed at, but he answered anyway, as sincerely as he could. "No. I'm not happy. But Dumbledore gave everything to win this... I guess he was probably just manipulating me the whole time, but he rescued me from the Dursleys. I owe him a little something for that."

Snape growled under his breath. "You wouldn't have been with the Dursleys if it hadn't been for the sodding -"

"Severus!" McGonagall snapped, "He's dead! At least pretend to have some respect!"

"I should go," Harry said, jumping to his feet. "I have to go back to the dormitory — Blaise knows, Professor, he grabbed the journal out of my hand and I couldn't stop him reading it — so I have to go threaten him until he promises to keep quiet."

"_Threaten_ him?" McGonagall demanded in horror, but his father only nodded. 

"If he won't listen to you, I'll have a go at him." Snape stood, pulling Harry into another hug before he could escape. It still felt weird. "Come down to my office and have tea with me on Christmas. You can tell the others that I caught you in the hall and decided to punish you for it. I know I can't — I can't act like a father, but just because of what _she_ says doesn't mean I'll not meet with you -"

"I'll be there," Harry promised, cutting his father off before he could insult the new Headmistress. "Blaise'll be looking for me."

"Go," Snape said, releasing Harry with a gentle nudge toward the door. He tried to ignore the glare McGonagall had focused on his father as he hurried away from the overwhelming colour and emotion trapped in McGonagall's rooms. And though he was certainly filled with hope for the future, something he'd been lacking for so long... his heart felt crushed by what he had to do.

December 24, 1997

No one waited up, so Harry enjoyed a night full of rest — his scar wasn't hurting, his dreams were pleasant, and even Seth Gregory's chainsaw snores weren't enough to keep him awake. However, his sleep was cut short early the next morning by Blaise clamping his hand over Harry's mouth and punching him roughly in the shoulder. His yelp of pain was muffled, and Blaise shushed him with a wink. "You ran into Snape, didn't you?" Blaise whispered. "Your girlfriend was positive you'd gone off and gotten yourself killed, the way you ran out of here... Luna certainly has faith in your abilities, now, doesn't she?"

Harry sat up and pulled Blaise's hand away from his mouth. "She's just concerned, and she's not my girlfriend," he whispered back viciously. "Maybe Slytherins don't feel worried if a friend is the target of a Dark Lord, but Gryffindors do. Oh, wait — Slytherins would BE the Dark Lords, wouldn't they?" And then Harry stopped abruptly, realizing just what he'd said: Blaise and the others really were targets... and they'd all stood up to the Dark Lord, just like the Gryffindors did. 

He started to apologize, but Blaise shook his head with a grin. "You're learning, Potter — if we can just teach you to get over that guilty conscience, you'll be happily insulting everyone around. Now — we're going downstairs before Weasley wakes up, and you're going to tell me everything that happened."

"And what if I don't feel like it?" Harry snapped, giving a snort of annoyance — but he rolled out of bed anyway, hissing as he bare feet slapped on the cold stone floor of the Ravenclaw dormitory. He couldn't wait to get back to the nice little carpets beside each bed in his own dormitory. 

Blaise grabbed Harry's shoulder and forced him into a chair the moment they entered the Common Room. "Right then," he said, straddling a chair backwards so he could rest his chin on the chair back. "Spill. All of it. What did he say?"

It seemed useless to argue about it, but Harry certainly wasn't going to tell Blaise _everything_ that had passed. "I ran into him in the corridor on my way to McGonagall's office. Er... I didn't tell him, Blaise. He found the journals. I, er, left them in the Infirmary the other day."

He frowned. "The Infirmary? Why were you there? Awww, did ickle Potter get a big bad paper cut?" Blaise sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes, silently cursing his forgetfulness — Blaise didn't know about Remus' presence. "I got sent on an errand there," he said. "That's not important. Anyway, I'm a stupid git and I left the journals there by accident. And he found them there, so he knew when we met in the hall. He _hugged_ me," Harry said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He hugged me and he told me how _sorry_ he is, and he cursed out Dumbledore a lot. We went down to his office and had tea, and it was rather uncomfortable, since the last time I was in his office I was nearly expelled — but he kept apologizing. I never thought I'd see the day Severus Snape apologized to anyone."

"So, when will you tell Weasley?" Blaise grinned. "I can't wait to see him lose it. Do you think he'll faint, or attack you? I'll put three Galleons on his fainting -"

"Blaise," Harry snapped, "that's ridiculous. I'm not betting on Ron's reaction. I won't even know what the reaction is for ages. I'm not telling him."

The Slytherin boy's eyes seemed to pop straight from his head. "What?!" he demanded. "After all this — he apologized and everything — and you're not going to let him be what he is?!"

"No," Harry snapped, "that's not what happened! We went to see McGonagall and she said it was too dangerous to tell anybody. And you can't tell anyone either, right? She said something about me being a figurehead, and a figurehead can't be a Death Eater's son." Harry slumped against the back of the chair, pulling his knees to his chest in defeat. "I wanted to have a family, you know. Even if it was Snape. I don't even like Snape, but he's my father. Maybe he'd be terrible at it, but — but maybe I'd be able to have a birthday party when I turn eighteen. Or we could go see a film, at the Muggle cinema. Maybe he'd at least try to be a dad, but I won't get to find out, now will I?"

"Hey — don't give up yet," Blaise replied, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "She says you'll be a figurehead? Well, go kill You Know Who, and I bet you'll be able to tell whomever you want, right? That'll be soon enough."

Harry couldn't help but lose his temper at that. He snarled, grabbing Blaise's hand and shoving it away. "It's hardly that easy, is it? Sure, I could go running around in Hogsmeade until a Death Eater notices, and I'm sure I'd be taken straight to Voldemort — but that's the end. I don't know how to kill him! I can't kill him! He'll kill me, like he did James and Lily, and Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and that's it! End of the line! How can I possibly destroy something that even Dumbledore fell before?!"

Blaise grabbed his shoulders and forced him to stay in his chair. He could hear footsteps on the stairs, but he'd gone past the point of controlling his temper. "Harry, calm down. You're waking everyone up. McGonagall and Snape will find an answer, you'll see."

"They don't have a fucking clue how to win, I just talked to them last night! Did you know that the current plan is for a load of wizards to go get themselves Avada Kedavra-ed in my defense, in the hopes that enough fanaticism will equal the protection on me as a baby, so that when Voldemort casts the Killing Curse on me, it'll rebound again? What kind of a plan is that?! If they want me to go out and commit suicide, I'll go throw myself off the Astronomy Tower right now — cleaner, quicker, and then HE doesn't win over me! How's that sound, Blaise? You think I should go throw myself off the Tower?" Harry shoved Blaise back, fighting to get to his feet. In the reflection of the mirror above the Common Room fireplace, he caught sight of the two little second-year Slytherin girls, Tal and Mandie, huddling together on the stairs.

"Harry," Blaise hissed, "stop it! You know I don't want you to go out and -"

"Don't you?" Harry countered, bringing his voice as low and as calm as he could manage in his rage. "Maybe that's the reason you're the only one of your class left in Slytherin. Maybe it's your job to get close to me, and then betray me when the time's right. My parents were betrayed, you know. It was Dumbledore who did it. He lied to everyone, he made my father miserable, he knew James and Elizabeth were going to die but he didn't work to correct it! Is there a prophecy out there about what's going to happen to me? Maybe it's up in one of those journals of yours, but no one will tell me about it — does your Master know about it, Blaise? Does he know what Malfoy's eyes looked like when I found him dead in the hallway? Or Parkinson's, or Montegue's, or any of the rest?"

Blaise carefully pulled his wand out and set it aside, where Harry could see it, acting as if Harry was a dangerous criminal — or an animal. "You know that I'm not a Death Eater. I would never betray you. You're the only friend I've got, anymore."

Harry snarled again and grabbed Blaise's wrist in a bruising grip, yanking the boy a step closer. "There's only one way to tell." He twisted Blaise's wrist to keep him still — he gave a grunt of pain, but held firm — and ripped away the sleeve covering his arm.

There wasn't a Dark Mark there. There was a small scar near the inside of his elbow and a plethora of freckles. "Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't mean I follow the Dark," Blaise whispered.

Harry stumbled back, letting go of Blaise's wrist, and crumbled to the ground. "I'm sorry," he murmured, realizing that he'd begun shaking with the sudden departure of his anger, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said — you wouldn't follow Voldemort, and you wouldn't turn me over, I'm just so — frustrated," he ground out, burying his face in his hands. It was hardly enough to cover the tears of bitterness rolling down his cheeks.

Blaise knelt down and pulled Harry into a rather awkward and less-than-manly hug. "It's alright. I don't blame you," he murmured. "Just — just don't do that again, alright? You were bloody scary — you looked just like Snape for a minute, there."

He tried to laugh, but it was too difficult to work up the energy. "Yes, that's me — mini-Snape."

"Mandie, Tal, go back upstairs," Blaise ordered over Harry's shoulder. He kept Harry in his grasp and settled on the ground. "There you go. They're gone. Nobody else down here. You're gonna be alright, Harry Potter, d'you hear me? This isn't the end of the line."

Harry nodded, trying to control his hysterics. "We're going to try. We're going to win, right?"

"Yes," Blaise murmured, "we're going to win." 

They sat for a long moment, Blaise letting Harry cry onto his shoulder while he rocked slowly. Early light was streaming into the Common Room, and the others would be on their way down soon, no doubt awakened early by the commotion Harry had caused. "I'm not, you know," he finally whispered.

"Not what?" Blaise asked. He stopped his rocking and scooted back to look Harry in the eye. 

"Not Harry Potter," he replied. When Blaise only frowned, Harry gave a shrug. "You said everything's going to be alright, Harry Potter'. Well, I'm not Harry Potter, not really. He told me — they were going to name me William. And they were going to get married. I'd have been William Snape. Do you — d'you think it's a good name?"

"A very good name," Blaise grinned. He stood and brushed off his flannel pyjamas before offering Harry a hand up as well, which he gladly took. "Well, Willam Snape, I think we've had enough excitement for the morning," he continued. "Besides, there's breakfast soon, and we've got to move over to the smelly old Gryffindor Tower so they can do the wards here. We should trash the place." He winked.

"Hey — that's my smelly old House you're talking about," Harry grinned back. He slung an arm over Blaise's shoulders as they trooped back up to the dormitory. "I hope you like red. There's lots of red... but not nearly as much as in McGonagall's room. We took the news there last night, and you should've _seen_ the way the room was decorated... she has _plaid_ sofas..."

~

"And McGonagall's pad was _worse_?" Seth demanded, glaring around at the Gryffindor Common Room in disgust, his journals tucked under his arm. The story had spread quickly, starting with an encore from Harry at breakfast, and with continued elaborations long into the evening. By the time the group left the library to move into the Gryffindor dormitories, Norah Roberts had been heard explaining to Percy that McGonagall's fireplace was fuzzy gold and burned tartan flames. However, the arrival at the dormitories ended their diversions. The first- and second-year Slytherins had gone back to huddling together when presented with the hostile territory that would be their temporary home. Blaise seemed to think the whole situation was amusing, Harry was annoyed to note, while Ron was following Matthew Eck, fourth-year Slytherin, around, making sure he didn't hex anything.

"The Hufflepuff dormitory would've been a more diplomatic choice," Ginny murmured to Harry.

"More diplomatic, maybe — but some of the poor sods might end up living in here, if some classmates don't come back. I know Seamus' parents were just about ready to pull him at the end of last year..." Harry shrugged and trailed off, before turning and slapping Blaise's shoulder. "Look on the bright side, mate — at least Ron's brothers graduated two years ago. You'd be in real trouble if they were still around."

Blaise sneered. "Yeah. Real trouble. Good Lord, is the loo tiled in red?" he demanded, ducking into a side room.

Harry couldn't help laughing. "Not all in red, Zabini, you exaggerate. Hey, Seth, that's my chair — go find your own." He crossed the room to nudge the blonde Slytherin. "I claimed that chair last year, I'll have you know."

"Finders, keepers," Seth replied, kicking his feet up on the table nearest the overstuffed chair. "It's all yours after I'm in a new dorm next term. Although... if I end up in this place, I think I might just claim it for mine. It's rather nice. Right in front of the fire."

"Best seat in the Common Room," Harry replied, unable to keep down his grin. It was nice to be home. The faded tapestries seemed twice as lovely after the time away. "We've probably been put back in my dormitory. It's at the top of those stairs," he pointed. "But you'd better watch this chair. I'll steal it back on the first opportunity, you know." Seth hmphed' and snapped a journal open, though he smirked at Harry the whole time; Harry crossed the room again to rejoin Blaise and Luna. "Ready to see your new home for the next week? I bet the Slytherins didn't have _round_ dormitories."

"Er, Harry," Luna cut in. She hadn't quite forgiven him for running off the night before, but at least she was still talking to him. "Ron said he'd like a word. If you're not too busy."

Harry spared a glance for Blaise, who shrugged. "I can check out the room on my own, Potter. I'll probably be dragged down to wherever the first-years are sleeping, after that. I'm sure Marin or Julienne will be aching to gripe about being stuck in here."

He hadn't noticed the others filing out of the room, up their respective staircases. "Right, then — I'll be up in a few." Harry saw Ron standing nervously next to a window niche, his arms crossed and foot scuffing against the floor. "Oi, Ron! What's wrong?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and moving to join his best friend as Blaise and Luna left the Common Room, followed by Ginny. "Are you alright?"

Ron grimaced, shifting his feet. His ears slowly turned bright red, a sure sign he was embarrassed by something. "Er — Harry... you're not — you're not leading Ginny on, are you?"

Harry blinked. "What? Erm... Ron, I don't think I'm comfortable discussing my relationship to your sister with you. I mean, I promise we haven't done anything — especially since she's still dating Dean and she's informed me she's not at all interested in me, but it's really none of your business -"

"No," Ron snapped, "That's not what I meant. Well," he corrected, shifting his feet again nervously, "it's sort of what I meant. Well, er, what I meant was — Harry are you... umm... are you, uh, playing for the other team?"

Once again, Harry blinked slowly, praying silently for some sort of comprehension. It didn't come. "Ron, I've not a bloody clue what you're talking about."

Ron gave a significant look over at Seth, who was the only other person in the Common Room, and lowered his voice. "What I mean is.... by asking about Ginny, I just meant..." He cleared his throat, flush rising to his cheeks, and looked away as if unable to meet Harry's eye? "Areyougay?" he muttered, almost incomprehensibly.

Harry spluttered. Then he gaped a little, totally unable to answer due to shock over the question. "What?" he demanded. "What are you talking about? Why would you think that?"

"Well, I -" He cleared his throat again, scuffing at non-existant dust on the floor. "I came downstairs this morning, and you and Zabini were, er, _hugging_ in the Common Room, and I thought maybe — well, you know — maybe you were, er, seduced by the Dark Side or something. And — and maybe that would explain why you'd been ignoring me and Ginny lately. She's not very happy, you know." Neither was Ron, his glare showed.

"I'm certainly not gay!" Harry squeaked, blushing even as he thought about it. "I just had a really tough time yesterday — I kinda lost my temper and started yelling at Blaise, but he helped me calm down. And then I -" He dropped his gaze, too embarrassed to look at his friend. "I started crying. It was stupid. I'm just a little overwhelmed, is all, and Blaise let me cry on his shoulder. I needed it."

Ron sighed, prompting Harry to glance up and meet his gaze. "You could've used my shoulder, you know," he muttered softly. "You used to tell me everything that was going on."

"I can't tell you this," Harry said truthfully, hoping Ron could understand. "McGonagall told me I'd be in grave danger if I told anyone."

"But Blaise knows," Ron snapped, glaring again. "You've been hanging with him 24/7. I know I haven't been the best possible friend the past term, because of Quidditch, and bloody Hermione and that stupid wanker, but I'm done mooning over her, now. I promise. We can go hang out again, just like it used to be."

Harry shook his head, leaning against the edge of the niche with a low sigh. "You're still the only one who knows about Remus. And Ginny, of course. I can't tell Blaise that, and I can't share this with you. But right now — right now, I really need Blaise's help, because he knows and I can't un-tell him. This is big, Ron. I wish you could understand how big."

"I understand big!" Ron protested. "Why can't you trust me? Damn, Harry, you know all of my secrets already! I thought we were best friends!"

"We still can be," Harry replied, "but you just have to understand that there are a few things I can't tell you, and this is one of them."

Ron shook his head. "No. Maybe I sound like a childish brat, but this is more than just a fear of mistrust. Someday you'll have to go out there and face off with You Know Who. When you walk out there, someone will have to be your second, you know. Who do you want your second to be, Harry? Me or him? Who would you trust to be your Secret Keeper?"

Harry shook his head. "You're different kinds of friends. He's a friend because I'm all he's got left. He'll fight for our side proudly, because of what he's seen. I've seen it too. All the dead... you're lucky you've been spared it, but it's still something I can't share with you because you've never waded through someone's blood. You've not lost a parent. You haven't stared evil in the face. Thank God you haven't — but it means I can't share it with you, because you can't understand it."

Without a word, Ron turned and stormed up the stairs, face a burnished red. From the chair beside the fire, Harry heard Seth turn a page. "You've messed up royally, mate," the Slytherin called.

"Oh, bugger off," Harry snapped. He turned to follow Ron up the stairs — but instead, he ended up perching on the benches in the niche, waiting for Ron to have ample time to calm down. He had been neglecting Ron in the past days — but every word he'd said was true. He and Blaise shared things that Ron would never experience, God willing. He curled up on the bench and stared out the window pensively. He'd made a fine mess of things indeed — and to make matters worse, it was Christmas Eve. What would Christmas be without Ron? He doubted Ron would forgive him any time soon.


	8. Bloody Christmas Spirit

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: There've been questions about the family tree: at some point, I'll probably write it all out. I've got a lovely flow chart I've created... but, just so you know, the important parts: 

Harry's mum is James Potter's cousin. James's father is Harry's grandfather's twin. And there's a Dark Lord in the family. Beyond that, it's not a big deal. I just really like geneology, and I think the wizarding world would be full of neat bits...

Chapter Seven — Bloody Christmas Spirit

December 25, 1997

"Merry Christmas, wanker!" Blaise exclaimed cheerfully, bouncing onto Harry's beside. Once again, Harry was awakened by a punch to the shoulder.

"Shove off," he muttered, rolling over to pull the pillows over his head. "I don't bloody care."

"Weasley's gone downstairs with Finch-Fletchley already. I think he's trying to ignore you, Potter," Seth said from somewhere across the room. "You managed to sleep through Justin ripping through his gifts and squealing. He's such a pouf."

Harry took the pillows from over his head just long enough to scowl at Seth. "Really, Gregory — you should know better than that. He's been dating Hannah Abbot since my fifth year."

Seth hmphed and pulled a jumper over his head. "I was just joking. No need to spoil the Christmas spirit."

"I don't have any Christmas spirit," Harry proclaimed, pulling the pillows back over his head.

"Hey — don't think I didn't hear what Weasley accused you of," Seth shot back. Harry heard footsteps crossing the room. "Why don't I just leave the two of you alone, then?"

"Bugger off!" Harry called after him, but the mattress muffled his shout.

Finally, Blaise had had enough. He yanked the pillows away and flung them across the room, glaring down at Harry. "If you're not careful, someone's going to guess the truth. I don't know why I didn't see it before — you look just like Snape in the morning, all grumpy. Now what was that all about? Weasley say something to you last night?"

Harry shrugged and attempted to hide beneath his blankets. It didn't work; Blaise only stole those as well. "Well, firstly, he decided you and I have been shagging each other senseless -"

"Really, Potter, he can't be that daft." Blaise grinned and scooted back to lean against one of the posters of Harry's bed. "After all, what would be the fun of shagging someone senseless? Isn't the sense of it what it's all about?"

"Do you want me to talk to you or not?" Harry snapped. "I'm not really in the mood for a heart-to-heart right now, you know. I had a bloody awful dream about Voldemort showing up and all I've got to protect myself is a spoon, a stuffed black rabbit, and a white ferret. _And_ I was stark naked. I'm sure Trelawney could tell me exactly what it meant, but I'm really not wanting to know, at this point."

Blaise's grin faded away as Harry spoke. "Think the ferret was supposed to be Draco? I mean — you said you don't want to talk about it, but maybe it means he's not really gone? Maybe he's a ghost — just hanging around the school, waiting to pop out and make you trip down the stairs and be late to Potions? Or... or..." He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I'm not making sense."

Harry sat up, letting his anger fade away. "I'm sure it was just a dream of no importance; probably my subconscious making sure that I won't forget Malfoy. Not like I could. But yes — it's Ron's fault I'm so angry. If he'd just been bothered that we were spending time together, that would've been one thing. I'll admit it: I haven't been spending even half the time with Ron that I usually spend. But then he tried to get me to tell him what was going on. I told him I couldn't — that there were just some things I couldn't tell him and he wouldn't understand." Harry shrugged. "He took it the wrong way, of course. It's Ron, he takes everything the wrong way. And he stormed up here, and I've not talked to him since."

"Don't let it bother you," Blaise said. When Harry looked skeptical, he went on. "It's not his fault that I figured it out and he didn't — and that's what this is all about, right? He's jealous that I know something about you that he doesn't. He needs to grow up. There are more important things to be done than whine about who knows what, don't you think?"

"Yeah... plenty of important things..." Harry muttered. 

Blaise frowned, but stuck his hand over the edge of the bed and pulled a present up off the floor. "I already opened mine. And thanks for the book. Where'd you manage to get it? I had to owl order for your present."

He'd picked out a Muggle novel for Blaise, though he'd never admit just what the authors were: _Good Omens_, by Terry Prachett and Neil Gaiman, a comedy about the end of the world. He thought it was appropriate. "I sent Percy out for it. He was feeling a little bit of cabin fever. I wish we could Apparate, too — it'd make things so much easier."

"Well, go ahead — open it?" Blaise pleaded. It turned out to be Blaise's gift in Harry's hands; and while it was also a book, he was sure _Potions for Dummies_ would be right up his alley. "You'd better learn a few of them, with the Potions Master for a father," Blaise grinned.

There were plenty of other gifts, too: a book about the N.E.W.T.S. from (who else?) Hermione, various wizarding candies from Seamus, Dean, and Neville, a book on curses from Bill and Percy, and a book about Auror training from Tonks. Even McGonagall had sent him something — a photograph of his mother, which she very sternly commanded him in an enclosed letter to keep tucked away. He left the present from Remus a wrapped, to be opened at Remus' side once they knew what was going to happen to him. But there were no presents from Ron or from Ginny — and Harry could see a present still sitting on the floor next to Ron's bed, wrapped in very familiar paper. "I wish she wasn't Ron's little sister," Harry muttered. "He's far too good at convincing her to side with him."

"They'll get over it," Blaise assured him. "Shall we go for breakfast? It's supposed to be special for Christmas. I saw Professor Lupin and Professor Snape hauling in the Christmas tree this year, since — since Hagrid can't do it anymore."

"Did m- Prof- er... damn, Blaise, what am I supposed to call him?" Harry hunched forward burying his face in his hands. "I couldn't possibly call him Dad', that would just be too weird. And Father' is formal — it makes me sound like Malfoy. You know how he always i- was. Father this and father that. And now they're both dead... I can't call him that. He's not just Professor' anymore, though."

"You can't tell anyone, remember? It might be best to just keep calling him professor' all the time, so you won't slip. He'll understand, if he's any sort of father at all." Blaise gave an encouraging smile before hopping off the bed and crossing the room to his, shedding bedclothes as he went. "Now get dressed. I want to get down there before Seth stuffs himself and leaves none for us."

They weren't the last ones to leave Gryffindor Tower — Luna was waiting alone in the Common Room for Harry to appear. She sprang to her feet and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Harry!"

"You're speaking to me?" he asked. After running out of the tower, she hadn't spoken a word in his direction.

She blushed a little, which seemed incredibly out of place for her. "Of course I am. I... I liked your gift — I'll wear it around all the time." 

"What'd you get her, Potter, knickers?" Blaise snickered.

Harry spluttered — Blaise was rather good at making him do that, he mused — and Luna gave a superior sniff. "Oh, sod off, Zabini," she said calmly, turning to pick up her current issue of The Quibbler. "Honestly — he gave me a necklace with a phoenix charm on it! It's pretty! What is it about men and women's knickers?!" He spluttered some more. Then again, so did Blaise. He hoped no one had walked in just then — they'd be certain to take _that_ line the wrong way.

Luna sniffed daintily and hooked her arm through Harry's — why did she keep doing that? - producing a little box from her pocket. "Here you are, Harry. Happy Christmas."

He smiled, though a bit confused about the sudden attention from the Ravenclaw, and ripped into the paper — inside the box was a brooch, oddly enough; a simple reddish stone mounted in gold. "Thanks, Luna. I needed something for my cloak."

She leaned her mouth to his ear, ensuring even Blaise couldn't overhear her. "It's a portkey. I had Professor Flitwick help me charm it, even though it's illegal to have an unauthorized Portkey. If something happens, promise me you'll use it. Only your voice will activate it, just press it and say start' and it'll take you to where my father is in hiding. It shouldn't delay more than a moment or two. Promise me you'll use it if you have to?"

"I promise," he murmured, slipping the stone into his pocket. "Thank you, Luna." Blaise made gagging noises as Luna gave Harry a peck on the cheek, and Harry flushed in embarrassment. Harry walked with one arm linked with Luna's and the other hooked over Blaise's shoulder. If it hadn't been for Ron, he would've counted himself truly happy, for once.

~

"I've a few announcements, now that we're all situated and sated," McGonagall called after the sausage, potato waffles, and eggs had been eaten. "The governors were in touch with me yesterday. They've voted, and I have officially been installed as the new Headmistress. I am appointing Severus as my second. As I can no longer be the Head of Gryffindor House, that position falls to another Gryffindor staff member — I will announce it officially at the term-opening dinner, but Percy Weasley will be taking my place in that. He'll be our temporary Transfiguration professor for the rest of the year."

Harry grinned over at Percy, who smiled back tiredly. Ron merely looked horrified. Infirmary,' Percy mouthed. Harry nodded almost imperceptibly, but Blaise caught on. "What was that about?" he muttered, frowning at Harry.

"He's practically family, Blaise," Harry replied. "Even though Ron's being a wanker, his family's always been better to me than mine. I'm sure he just wants to talk. He — er — he doesn't know about You Know What, I'm afraid."

"Ahh," Blaise said shortly, wincing. "Well, he'll be in for a rough surprise, one of these days."

"Who'll be in for a rough surprise?" Ginny asked, peering around Harry.

Blaise smirked. "Your brother, when he walks in on Harry and I naked and covered in chocolate — Ow!" he yelped, as Harry smacked his head.

"Don't listen to him. He's a git," Harry said, leaning over to pat Ginny on the shoulder. "You see, your brother insinuated that — er — Blaise and I are... er..."

Ginny giggled and shook her head. "He told me. He's still positive of it, you know. Well, I suppose that's my fault." She winked. "I told him we were planning a celebratory Christmas threesome. I don't think he took it well."  


Harry couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. "Ginny!" he yelped. "You — you -"

"How Slytherin of you!" Blaise shot in, looking equally surprised. "My goodness, Weasley, you're turning out to be as devious as Potter, here! Who'd have thunk it?"

She glowed in the praise, however oddly phrased. "I blame it on six older brothers, you know."

Blaise was about to respond, probably something dirty as he was smirking once more, when a shout from down the table cut him off. "Somebody help!" little Marin Walters, Slytherin first-year, squealed. "I think Professor Trelawney's been poisoned!"

Half a dozen eyes flickered toward Snape — his dislike of Trelawney was as well known as his utter hatred for Gilderoy Lockhart — while Harry lept to his feet and dashed down to help. McGonagall, Percy, and his father all appeared within moments, as well, soon followed by the rest of the teaching staff. "She's not poisoned," Snape pointed out immediately.

"Is she choking?" Professor Sprout asked.

Any reply was cut off by a rasping breath from Trelawney. The voice which came from her mouth was eerily familiar to Harry — and at least an octave too low for the professor to be faking it. "_Come the turning of the year, the boy will be no more. Only black can save his life, and only blood can change for right. But the Boy Who Lived — the hero cannot be saved._"

It was the same voice which had issued from her only once in his memory — and every word on that occasion had proved true. Harry shrank back and felt a bony hand clasping his shoulder. In the screams and chaos caused by Trelawney's prounouncement, he looked up to see his father lending support silently. 

And then Trelawney woke. "Ohh, my," she whispered airly, waving at her cheeks. "Minerva, dear, you really must do something about the heat in here. Please, back away — back away, you're all disturbing my aura!" she pronounced. McGonagall pulled Trelawney up into her chair, murmuring rather loudly that nothing of note had happened and that everyone should calm down. In the commotion, only Ginny and Blaise noticed that Snape leant down to whisper to Harry, and only Harry himself heard what was said. "Don't forget to come for tea. We'll speak of this — I doubt it's as dire as she sounds." He melted back into the shrieking first-years.

"Merry Christmas, indeed," Harry snorted. And then Luna was at his side, reminding him of the portkey he had tucked in his pocket, and Blaise muttered about what a fraud Trelawney was. But across the table, Ron met his gaze — and, as only friends of many years can do, knew with a single glance that it was the truth.

~

He'd been hoping to spend teatime with his father learning all about his mother and his family. He'd been hoping to share stories of his friends, and listen to his father's stories about his school days and secrets about his days as a Death Eater; maybe even the reasons behind it all. He'd been hoping to talk about anything but Trelawney's prediction — especially since he'd been forced to listen to the same tripe all morning and noontime. 

"Oh, she's just a batty old fraud," Headmistress McGonagall had muttered, as he sat in her office soon after breakfast. "I know Albus thought she had some talents, but it's obvious she's as fake as Minister Fudge's Dementor-controlling measures. If she wasn't tenured, I'd fire her now." And with that, she shook her finger at Harry. "Don't you dare repeat a word of that, Harry Potter — or whatever your name is — or I'll ensure you're in detention with Filch until you're fifty. And whatever you do, don't believe a word of what she said! I expect to see you in class on January 5th, just like everyone else!"

Tonks hadn't been any more help. "Well, I think she was making the lot of it up, she was just as batty when I was a student, but it's a good reminder of how careful you should be." Sometimes, Harry mused, the woman sounded just like Hermione. Well, just like pre-Seamus Hermione. Now all Hermione sounded like was oh, Seamus, that's so funny!' But Tonks had cautioned him to be especially careful over the next few days, and to stay inside the castle, just in case. "And didn't she say that Black will save your life? Well, that's one more example of how nuts she is. There aren't any Blacks left, less she means me." Though Harry longed for that to be true, he was sure deep in his gut that Trelawney's meaning was entirely different — but he let Tonks hope she could be the one to save him.

And so he sat in his father's office, listening to yet another lecture on Trelawney's obvious sham. "... and if Albus hadn't had so much faith in the bloody bitch, I'm sure someone would've flung her out years ago. Only Albus' memory is keeping Minerva from doing it herself, I'm sure. You'll be fine."

He'd had enough of it. "She's predicted something right before, sir. Dumbledore knew about it — there were two predictions. The first was about my scar. He knew in advance. And he knew I'd be the one to destroy Voldemort; the first of Trelawney's predictions told him that. The second happened in my exam in third year. She predicted that Peter Pettigrew was going to escape and bring Voldemort back. And he did. I'm sorry, sir, but I think she predicted truthfully." He shrugged, as though it didn't matter. But it did. He was terrified. According to the prediction, he had only a week to live.

Snape curled the edge of a slip of parchment around his finger; he'd scribbled down the exact words of the prophecy, before he could forget it. "Well, then, if you're sure this is the truth... shall we attempt to decode it? I doubt her last prophecy was as clear as Pettigrew will raise the Dark Lord.' Am I correct?"

"This one seems straightforward," Harry shrugged, "but yes. The last one didn't make sense until after it all happened."

"_Come the turning of the year, the boy will be no more._ That doesn't necessarily mean YOUR death, Harry. And the turning of the year isn't necessarily New Year's Day. It could mean in the coming year, a full year from the day of the prediction, one turning of the earth. Or it could mean a solstice or equinox, when the season turns." He seemed to be pulling at straws. Harry slumped into his chair, resigned to another session of being talked down to. "It's the next line that is the center of the whole conundruum, I believe," his father continued. "_Only black can save his life, and only blood can change for right_. Well, the blood — probably me, yes? Though — Black saving your life seems a bit unusual, as he's been dead for months. Unless he returns from the grave -"

Harry winced, trying not to let the slight to Sirius hurt as much as it did. Of course Snape would still hate Sirius. It wasn't an issue he wanted to tackle, yet. "I don't think black is Sirius. I think it's the other kind of black. The colour. Black can save my life. Dark can save my life. Does that mean Dark Magic?"

Snape froze. "No — I'll not have you toying with — I won't let you make that mistake, do you understand?" He reached across the table and grabbed Harry's shoulder with his good hand, squeezing painfully. "I learned that lesson the painful way. Don't mess with the Dark; it always leaves a mark on you, even if the mark isn't visible."

"You obviously have something Dark in mind?" Harry asked drolly. Snape's eyes flashed guiltily and he drew back, releasing Harry's shoulder and sinking into silence. That was enough to tell Harry he'd hit a truth. "Well, what is it? If it'll save my life, I'll have a go."

"It's nothing specific, anyway," Snape said. "I just — this morning I received a large box from Gringotts. It seems Lucius Malfoy's Will names me as sole beneficiary, now that Draco is dead. They've sent me everything from his vault..." he trailed off, glance flickering toward a drawer. "It all _feels_Dark. It feels oily. I don't know what any of the artefacts do... they all require years of study, which we don't have. And that's all I thought of; it would be poetic justice to use Lucius' Dark tools against his master, but we can't use them before knowing what precisely they do. We could end up worse than dead."

"The prophecy says the hero can't be saved. Maybe it's because I won't be a hero anymore. Maybe I have to use the Dark to fight the Dark, and I'll win, but it will keep people from honouring me as a hero. I won't miss it, you know." Harry shrugged. "I'd give anything to not be Harry Potter anymore. It's just not the way it'll be."

And Snape smiled hesitantly. "Well, you can always remind yourself that you're not really Harry Potter. I don't know whether that will help you or hinder you... but it's the truth." Snape shifted in his chair. "Whether you use Dark Magic or not, you'll still be their hero, Harry. They need someone to look up to — it used to be Albus. He was a charming and handsome young man, I've been told, and his charisma only grew as he aged. But he's gone now — and if you defeat Voldemort as he defeated Grindelwald, you'll be as powerful as he was. They'll accept anything you say, in the end."

"I don't want it," Harry insisted. "I want to be Harry. Just Harry, nothing more. With a father, and a family, and friends to stand with me when I need them, of course, but without Colin Creevey stalking me to get a photo or wizards stopping me on the street to congratulate me, simply because of a scar on my head. I want Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to drop off the face of the world!"

"You truly mean it, don't you," his father muttered, peering at him closely. He sighed and gave a shake of his head. "I'm afraid Albus has trapped you in this persona. Once Voldemort is defeated, you could certainly make a few appearance charms permanent and change your name — but in the end, unless the media believes Harry Potter to have died, they'll still be able to track you down."

Harry nodded glumly and poked at the biscuits sitting on a little china plate in front of him. "I'll be careful. I already promised Professor McGonagall and Tonks that. So... may I ask you a few questions, sir? About my- OUR family? Do I have any family left?"

There was a lengthy pause as Snape settled a searching gaze on his son, before giving a quick nod and yanking open a drawer. He pulled out an album and settled it on his lap, doing his best to clear the desk one-handed so as to make room for the photographs. Harry helped. "I suspected you'd be asking soon, so I asked Minerva to aid me in pulling together a few pictures of my family. And I know it's not a very good Christmas gift — but it's all I can give. I can't leave Hogwarts grounds without putting myself in far too much danger."

"I understand," Harry said quickly. "And I think it's lovely. Finding out I've a family that doesn't include the Dursleys may just be the best Christmas present ever." 

Snape frowned at that — Harry wondered idly if he blamed himself for Harry's horrid childhood — but he flipped open the first page of the album. "These are your grandparents, Septimus Snape and Merinae Thermopolis. Both sides of our family are Greek; the Snapes came to England with the Romans, and my father met my mother when studying ancient curses at the Apollo Institute in Athens. Snapes, until myself, have always gone back to Greece to find brides. I had a sister, Hermia, who died young. My father was murdered by Julius Potter, in his bid to take my father's position as Voldemort's right hand. I was told, at the time, that his murderer was an Auror. Learning the truth brought me back to the Light — and I will not talk about it anymore, so please don't ask me. I can only try to be a better father to you than he was to me."

"You can't be worse than Vernon Dursley," Harry replied with a shrug. "But if you won't talk about it, how can I learn not to make the same mistakes? I mean, isn't that what -"

"I won't speak of it," his father snapped. He clenched his fist. "He's dead. I'm glad he's dead. Now..." he flipped the page, and closed the subject. "This is Mother's brother, your great-uncle, Petros Thermopolis. He is the last living relative for the both of us. His wife, a Dicaeomer, died in childbirth. The child was a Squib, and she now lives somewhere overseas. He hasn't spoken to her in years, as she cannot exist in our world. As soon as the war is over, I will introduce you to him. He is a guest lecturer at the King Solomon School for Magic in Jerusalem, though he lives in Troy. It's a wizarding town in Greece, not the one in the Iliad."

Harry blinked. The Iliad? What was that? Obviously, it was something important in the wizarding world — so important that his father assumed he knew about it — so he pretended he did. It was better than showing his father how little he really knew. "Right. Er... Great Uncle Petros in Troy, with a Squib daughter. I've got it, sir." 

Snape had already flipped the page. "This is Mother's sister, Hesperia -" He paused, finger resting on the edge of the photograph, and peered across the table. "Harry, why are you calling me sir? I- Am I doing something wrong?"

"I don't know what to call you," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"Oh." Snape glanced down to the photo pensively. "I guess — I guess you should still call me Professor. Because of what Minerva insinuated. I wouldn't want to be the cause of some political incident, should you say the wrong thing."

Harry bristled, scooting to the edge of the chair. "I'm sixteen years old, I know when to hold my tongue. I won't slip up! I thought you wanted to take up your role — isn't that what you said?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in a very familiar mannerism, one Harry had picked up over the past years. Blaise had been right — Harry could now see his reflection in the older man's features. "I concede the point," Snape muttered. "Call me what you will, in private. I welcome it, in fact."

Unfortunately, that still didn't help the point. And though it felt odd, Harry figured he should fall back on the formal, since he was consistently referring to his mum as mother.' "You were saying about grandmother's sister... Father...?" He gulped, voice wavering over the unfamiliar word.

Snape reached out and lightly traced Harry's scar with the tip of his thumb. "I know this is all awkward... but it will get easier..."

"It can't get easier until Voldemort is dead. And that, I can't do alone." Harry thought back on everything his father had said that night. "I had a dream. A nightmare, really. All I had to fight Voldemort was a spoon, a black rabbit, and a white ferret. Blaise thought the ferret was supposed to be Malfoy, of course. And I'm not trying to sound like Trelawney, or anything, but suppose Blaise is right? Maybe... maybe I'm supposed to use Malfoy's property to do it. If we work on cataloguing the artefacts together, and get Blaise to help us, we might be done before the end of the year... and I don't doubt that Voldemort will attack then."

The older man cupped Harry's cheek with his palm, searching his face. "My blood can't possibly flow in your veins. You're too brave to be mine. Beth and I couldn't possibly have created something so... pure." He whispered his words, firmly holding Harry at arm's length.

He wasn't sure whether his father saw bravery and purity as good or bad, but he took a chance. "You're wrong, Father," he whispered. "You're the bravest person I know. You went back to spy when you could've hidden — you lost an arm, but you could've lost your life."

The moment stretched on. Snape merely considered his son's face, oblivious to the seconds passing. "Beth would've been proud of you," he said simply. And then he released Harry's face and closed the album. "Come, we've work to do. If you're positive about this, we need to start now — there are dozens of artefacts to check."

"I'm sure," Harry said, even though he wasn't. After all, it had only been a dream — why else would be be facing Voldemort with a spoon?

But, if the prophecy was right — his blood, his father, could change the Dark Magic for the purposes of the Light. Maybe Divination had some use after all.


	9. Dark Finds

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Mmph. Have realized, from review, that Professor Lupin brought in the Christmas Tree. There's an excellent reason for that: this story was mostly completed in April 2003. Sirius was the one in the coma, and most of Tonks' part was played by Lupin. But with OotP out... I had to rewrite entirely (thus the late publishing. I'd been promising this fic for October at the latest). It seems I missed a change or two, and I apologize! I'll be back to fix those when I've the chance. As it is, I'm graduating college, and am rather busy. Despite errors, enjoy anyway!

Oh, and there's a nod to one of my favourite books in here. If you guess it, I'll... do something nice. I don't know. Perhaps I'll send an unfinished draft to you, if you wish.

Chapter Eight — Dark Finds

December 27, 1997

He hadn't expected the research to easy — but he also hadn't expected it to take up every moment of Christmas and Boxing Day. Harry turned in his diaries — minus 1980 — and notes to Professor McGonagall and, along with Snape and Zabini, retired to the Restricted Section of the library with two crates of necklaces, brooches, marble bowls and glass trinkets, and dozens of other baubles. Identifying each piece took hours of cross-referencing, and that was if one was lucky enough to correctly distinguish each object from dozens of similar shapes. Ginny pitied him working with the two Slytherins, but Snape and Blaise seemed to be in their element — they really should've been Ravenclaws, Harry mused, as he watched the two bent over tomes larger than even Hermione's summer reading list.

"Wicked!" Blaise pronounced just after noon on Boxing Day, peering intently at a shiny gold ring in his hand. "This ring is either a soul-corrupting Invisibility talisman or a 17th century wedding band charmed to brand a cheating husband by shrinking on his finger until it cuts off the circulation and his finger falls off! Isn't that bloody brilliant!?"

"Yeah... wicked..." Harry muttered, trying to keep himself from being sick. He'd changed his mind — they were Slytherin. All Slytherin, every cell in their bodies.

"While fascinating — I'd be interested to see which of the two it actually is — neither will help us, in this case, Mr. Zabini," Snape said, without lifting his gaze from the book in front of him. A fairly large ring was sitting in the palm of his hand, sporting a very large seal of some sort carved into red stone. "This may be of more use. It appears to be the... the crest of Arnor. The ring will deliver a highly poisonous substance into the bloodstream when the crest is laid against the skin, preferably at the throat, of an enemy. As the poison, a derivative of arsenic, travels through the blood, the victim will -"

Harry coughed lightly, attempting to draw Snape and Zabini from their captivation with gruesome details. "Er — Father, while that's... very interesting, I doubt I'll be getting close enough to Voldemort for it to be of any use."

Snape gave a sigh and nodded. "Quite right. A pity." He scribbled out the name of the object on a scrap of parchment and tied it to the ring with a flick of his wand. And, as it was of no use, he carelessly tossed it over his shoulder into their labeled' crate. Harry winced, hoping the ring wouldn't shatter anything and send Dark particles of something or other scattering across the room to turn them into Blast-Ended Skrewts — or something worse.

"You're looking a little green there, Willy," Blaise grinned. Harry, finally at his breaking point, let his forehead smack against the table, upsetting the blue and yellow glass he was working on. Yes, Blaise had found a new way to taunt Harry — saying anything embarrassing in front of his father was enough for a blush, but the nickname Willy' brought so many connotations, that he really didn't want to think about it. And, unfortunately, Snape found the nickname amusing.

"Do be careful," his father cut in. "I recall reading about a chalice that, when filled with a liquid, would transmography that liquid to a corrosive acid. Such an artefact would be incredibly useful. Voldemort certainly wouldn't be expecting acid," Snape continued, almost smiling. "Oh, I do hope it is. I'd like to be there for that. If I remember correctly, tossing the acid onto him would slowly burn away his skin, though with the enchantments protecting him, there could be some very interesting -"

"Father," Harry snapped, "if you'd like me to sick up into the cup to test that theory out, please, continue with that line of thought!"

Blaise snickered while Snape tsked loudly. "Your mother really would be surprised at what a prude we created. Honestly, I would expect you to have a stronger constitution than this. You've been spending too much time with that Weasley boy. He seems to have taken more after his brother Percy than Fred and George — which, from my end, is quite fortunate, but you've certainly been cut off from useful pursuits. And Granger, I'm sure she's no help either."

Harry smacked his head against the table again. Blaise continued to snicker.

Snape patted his shoulder before rummaging around in the crate for a new artefact. "We have here artefact number... seventy-nine. Harry, take notes."

"Yes, Father," he muttered, grabbing up their master parchment and his quill. "Artefact seventy-nine. Physical qualities?"

"Silver brooch with blue stone, appearing to be lapis lazuli. The pin and lock appear to be a great deal more complicated than the generic piece of jewelery. I suspect it to be some sort of trigger mechanism. And... yes, the stone is not original. It has been welded on fairly recently. The mounting is silver, as I mentioned, and around the edge of the stone I can make out words — I believe on the original piece, they framed a smaller stone. Er... Soul in flight, into the night,' I believe. Or it could be light'. Blaise, where's the book on brooches?" Snape set the brooch aside to free his hand for the book.

"Here, Professor," Blaise answered, passing it over. He finished labelling his little gold ring and tossed it to join the others, taking out another piece of his own. "Harry, this is number eighty. It's a shallow white vessel, probably marble, painted with an oriental scene in blues and oranges along the outer rim. At the center inside of the bowl is a painted bird... a crane, I think."

Harry nodded. "Right, right. Let me finish looking up mine, here?" he asked. He was pathetic at research, it seemed. The little cup in his hand — it was little bigger than a shot glass — had been puzzling him for hours. It was decorated with a pretty gold design, almost Indian looking, but he couldn't quite pinpoint anything about it in any of the books. He gave a loud sigh and stared at it. "That's it. I give up on this one. Could it be something we don't have in the book, Father?"

Snape glanced up. "I was wondering when you'd ask," he remarked snidely. "It's a shot glass. Lucius purchased it in Diagon Alley the summer before your first term. I have a matching one, in green and yellow, in one of my cupboards."

Trying desperately to keep his temper, Harry slammed the glass onto the table in front of his father. "There. You've a set. Happy?" He slammed his head on the table. "I hate you both."

"There, there. You'll learn." He could almost sense the smirk on Snape's face. And then, suddenly, his tone of voice shifted. "Harry — this might be it."

"It won't rip out his innards, right? Shred his intestine so he vomits them up on the carpet? Or plucks his eyes out? Or turns his lungs into sludge?" Harry demanded desperately, clinging to the edge of the table and, very hesitantly, peeking up.

His father turned up his nose. "That's disgusting, boy. Keep a civil tongue. I was right about the locking mechanism — this was originally a brooch created by King George III's private wizard advisor to serve in case of an assassination attempt. It functions as a normal clasp until the pin is twisted and snapped down into place — see, it sticks out like a stiletto? When the correct incantation is said, and followed by stabbing the pin into the opponent, the opponent's soul is tied to the stone, along the same lines the Dementor's Kiss works. Should the stone be destroyed — poof. So is the opponent." Snape smiled.

Blaise was equally excited. "Perfect! Oooh, can I be there when it happens? I want to watch the bastard go up in smoke for what he did!"

Harry held out his hand for the artefact, which his father dropped onto his palm gently. "Yes... perfect. If Voldemort is still human enough to have a soul."

"He may not be," Snape replied. "However, that isn't our only problem. You see, the incantation... It's Dark, Harry. Blackest of the black. I don't know if you could make it work without blackening your own soul in the process." His gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, to his useless left arm, on which the Dark Mark was still burned, though hidden under his sleeve. Blaise probably hadn't seen the covert glance, but Harry had — and he remembered what his father had said.

Dark magic always left a mark. The scar on Harry's forehead gave proof to that. But could Harry cast a spell that Dark — and would he be able to deal with the consequences? His eyes were locked on the seemingly innocent object. And they had no way of knowing whether or not it would work... he could easily cast the spell and take the repercussions, only to learn that Voldemort hadn't enough soul to be destroyed at all.

He pocketed the stone. "Let's keep working. We don't have much time." He reached for the next piece.

~

It was nearly dawn when the first box of Dark Artefacts was emptied. Sometime after dinner, the house-elves provided hot chocolate and tea for the researchers. Sometime after midnight, Blaise dozed off, slumped across the texts. And sometime after two in the morning, Harry's father had nipped off for a snack and returned with a rather large bottle of whisky, which he'd been kind enough to share with his son. Research had trailed off, after that. "This is the last of it," Snape murmured, setting a sheathed dagger on the table. The hilt of the piece was carved of ivory into two coiled serpents and tied neatly with a decorative green cord — a dagger any Slytherin would be proud to carry. "I saved this one for last."

"Mmph," Harry stated, peering at the dagger bleerily. "Are you sure I should've had that whisky?"

"You're a Snape," his father countered, "you can handle a bit of alcohol. Now listen. This dagger is enchanted to freeze a person in place when one has been stabbed. It was one of Lucius' prized posessions." He unsheathed it artfully, letting Harry marvel at his father's mastery of the weapon. "Drawing blood is enough to begin the magic, and it's almost instantaneous. I think this is the most important weapon at our disposal, William. The blade is longer than the stiletto pin of the soulcatcher, and more effective than lobbing that damned crystal ball around. I think this is it."

"I can't carry it to class. It'd look funny."

He slid the dagger into its sheath and rounded the table, perching on the edge next to Harry's research. "No one's going to stop you. Minerva knows the danger you're in, and I'm certainly not going to demand you hand it over." Snape settled the dagger in front of his son and ruffled the boy's hair. "Keep it on you."

Harry slid the dagger partway out to have a look at it before packing it away into his backpack. "I'll find my belt to keep it on tomorrow... so... what are we going to do about class? I mean, it's going to be weird having you for a professor, and knowing who you are. Different."

"I'll have to pretend, if only to protect you." He cupped Harry's chin in his hand and turned the boy's face up, examining his features closely. "Your mum had green eyes, you know," Snape was saying. "But they weren't green like yours. They were a hazely green... soft and lovely... and her hair was curly. She hated her hair, but I loved it. I wish you'd got her hair... I guess you didn't really get mine, though, it's not all greasy..."

"Snapes can hold their liquor? I'd say you're pissed, Father," Harry muttered. "Not that I'm not. You're going all mushy on me. This is weird."

His father gave a snort. "William Augustus Snape, I'm not drunk, nor have I been in years."

"My middle name is SO not Augustus," Harry growled back.

"It's a family name, and you'll be proud to bear it! At least you're not William Septimus!" Snape released his son's chin and scooted back on the table a little, settling in for an explanation. "I've just been wondering why you look so little like your mother and I. You really do have more James Potter and Lily Evans in you than you should. While you've been released from the curse of the greasy hair, you don't look like you're mine. However... do you know what Albus taught before he became the headmaster here?"

"Transfiguration, right?" Harry wasn't going to explain how he came upon the fact — it had been part of the incident with Tom Riddle's diary in his second year, and his father didn't know the half of that yet. Come to think of it, his father didn't know about the polyjuice potion, either... or the stolen ingredients... or anything about his life. They had a lot of catching up to do.

"Yes, transfiguration," he was saying. "And, in fact, he was an expert in the field of glamoury. I think Albus tweeked a few minor things to insure no one would find the truth. You could actually have brown eyes. Or curly hair. Or greasy hair. But the changes are permanent — they're transfigurations, not charms. We'd never know the difference."

The idea of having his whole body permanently changed made a shiver run up Harry's spine. "There's no way to know?"

He shook his head. "No way. This is your face now. I hate him for it, even as I love him for saving you and hate him for taking you from me. If he lived... he would have so much to atone for..." Snape slumped forward, covering his face with his hand.

If Harry didn't know better, he would've thought... but yes. His father was crying. Without considering the consequences, Harry hopped up onto the table next to his father and pulled him into a hug. Surprisingly, his father hugged back. "He did some terrible things to the both of us, Father, but we know everything now. We know who we are, even if nobody else does... c'mon, stop this, what would you say if Blaise woke up? Please... Dad?"

Suddenly, there was a gasp and Harry glanced up to find Tonks stopped short in the midst of the library, hands clenched at her sides. Harry froze, not noticing whether his father looked up or not. "Er — Hullo, Tonks."

"What did you call him that for?" the Auror snapped, eyes flashing with some animalistic fury.

The time of reckoning was at hand. "I wasn't allowed to tell you," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry... there's so much I'm supposed to keep a secret..."

The woman's eyes flickered to Snape; the man had shifted to a more formal position, though he kept Harry within his grasp. "It's the truth, Nymphadora. Albus did it."

Tonks drew herself up to her full height. "I need to... I've got to go now. I -" She broke off and shuffled backward, as if fighting to stay upright. Then, without another word, she turned and dashed away.

"I have to go, Dad," Harry whispered, not noticing the expression of sheer happiness on his father's face after the more intimate address. "I've just destroyed everything she's believed..." And without waiting for a response, Harry was running down the halls of Hogwarts. It was the time of reckoning. And he'd been so careless... "Tonks!" he called, catching sight of the swirl of pale green robes turning toward the Infirmary. "Tonks, please — stop, we have to talk NOW!"

He'd expected her to run for Madame Pomfrey and demand school records, but instead, the Auror stopped in her tracks, clenching and unclenching her fists as Harry arrived at his side, panting. "Just when were you planning to tell the rest of us about this? Obviously the Slytherin boy knows — but I'll bet the Gryffindors don't. How long have you known?"

"It was in the diary," Harry whispered, looking down at his feet in shame. "Dumbledore switched babies. You told me... that I wasn't making any noise when I was born? It wasn't me. James and Lily Potter had a girl, and she died. Severus Snape and Elizabeth Potter had a son, but Dumbledore didn't think he could let my father raise me, because of what he is-was. I don't know, maybe he was right... but I don't have any family at all, except for him."

Tonks' hand snagged onto his shoulder painfully. "Dumbledore did... all of this...? It doesn't — Harry, WE were your family. Remus and me. We'd have done anything for you. Dumbledore wouldn't let us — not after Sirius died the way he did, but Re and I had a plan — after your N.E.W.T.s, he wouldn't have a say in anything, and we were planning to buy a little cottage in Wales to disappear and train for war. He's- just because he's your father doesn't mean he can be your dad. He's a smug, greasy, Slytherin bastard, just like he was when he taught me -"

Harry stumbled back, brushing the Auror's hand away and crumpling against the wall of the corridor. "Tonks... because of what Dumbledore did, I never got a family. It was because of a prophecy. Professor Trellawney's first real one. And it all came true. She's had another one, now — don't tell me it wasn't real, because I saw it — but that means I'm going to die this week. I'm going to spend time with my fa- my dad, because I've never had the chance before. Slytherin bastard or not. I'm not going to tell Ginny or Ron or Hermione or Luna because when I'm dead, I don't want them to remember me as a lying Death Eater's kid. All the knowledge will do is hurt them. And when Remus wakes up... you're not going to tell him, because it'll kill him. He's still the closest thing to an uncle I've got, and I want you to tell him that I love him very much, since I'm not going to get to -"

"He's awake." Tonks shrugged. "I came to tell you. He woke up. Minerva's telling him what happened. Good luck keeping the secret from him — he's not nearly so gullible as I am." Her eyes drifted in the direction of the Infirmary before she turned and stalked in the other direction.

Harry was too stunned to yell after her.

He stared after Tonks for a long moment before the woman's words penetrated his brain. Remus was awake? He stumbled to his feet and made a dash for the Infirmary, flinging the doors wide in a frantic search for his friend.

"Remus? Are you alright? Remus?!" In his excitement, he forgot to call the man professor, as he used to. He'd nearly lost him, just like he'd lost Sirius, and a simple thing like propriety wasn't going to stop him now.

Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey were standing next to the bed at the end of the row; the curtains had been drawn away. And a distinctive, male voice came from the bed. "I'm alright, Harry."

He didn't waste time — in a few bounds he crossed the room and threw himself into Remus' embrace, ignoring the distress of the nurse. "God, Remus — we thought you weren't going to wake up! I missed you — I needed you so much, and I thought I wouldn't ever get to say goodbye, and when I saw what Voldemort did to you — he killed Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid, and Tonks' leg is all mangled so she can't be an Auror, and d- Professor Snape lost the use of his arm! And you- and you looked so still -"

"I'm okay," Remus was repeating, rocking Harry in his arms as though the nearly-grown man was no more than a small child. "It was a curse form of the Draught of Living Death. Or — that's what Poppy here decided. It just threw me into a coma rather than killing me outright. Professor McGonagall thinks it might be an experimental curse of some sort... I'm not leaving you, Harry, I promise I won't..."

Harry couldn't help the sobs, as they finally came. "I have so much I have to tell you. He killed all the Slytherins — a few survived, but Pansy tried to run for help, and they cut her down in the hall. And Draco Malfoy — he tried to get Voldemort to spare the Gryffindors, but Voldemort slit his throat, and there was blood all over the hall — I found his body when the battle was over, and Pansy's, and Gareth Montegue's. And Blaise found all of the bodies in their Common Room — he killed _children_, Remus, first-years and second-years and all the third-years in Slytherin — and I don't understand why!"

And Remus was crying, too, though Harry didn't know why, but it was alright. It was all alright, even though Harry had secrets to keep. He didn't know when Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall disappeared, nor did he know when he dozed off and Remus put him to sleep on the nearest hospital bed. Remus was alright. The rest would come in its own time.


	10. Memories and Remembrances

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: This is a long chapter. Enjoy it, and let me know what you think. 2+epilogue to go.

Chapter Ten — Memories and Remembrances

December 29, 1997

"Harry?" Someone shook him awake gently. Harry turned his face away, unwilling to respond. "Harry, we were worried. No one saw you come in last night. Harry, wake up."

The sound finally flooded his senses, and he snatched the blankets up to his chin. "Damnit- Ginny, I'm not really dressed — go away!"

Ginny gave a loud snort and tugged on the blanket. "It's nothing I haven't seen. Six brothers?"

"You're — you're dating Dean!" Harry spluttered. "You're not trying to do something — scandalous, are you?" He blindly reached for his glasses and heard a book fall to the floor from his bedside. He didn't give it much thought, as he shoved the frames onto his face. Before he turned, he caught sight of Lucius Malfoy's artefacts — the dagger, the brooch, and the orb — placed in plain view on his dresser. He pulled his scarf over the top surreptitiously.

"Don't get your hopes up," she snapped, ignoring his adjustment to the bedside table. "Like it or not, you remind me far too much of my brothers to be on the receiving end of _that_ kind of attention. Now get your arse out of bed, we've all gone down to breakfast already. When you hadn't gotten up, they sent me back."

Harry shook his head firmly. "I'm not coming out, not while you're here."

"I won't look," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the fallen bok from the floor and hopped over onto Ron's bed, firmly placing her back toward him. "There. Are you happy? Hurry up, it's scones and clotted cream." She flipped open the book on her lap.

Muttering under his breath, Harry climbed out of bed and pulled his robes over his head. After a pause, he pulled on his pants from the day before, as well. He couldn't remember what time he'd returned to the dormitory, but it was well past curfew. Not a soul had been awake, not even Luna, who appeared to have been waiting up for him in the Common Room, where she'd fallen asleep reading _The Quibbler_'s latest edition upside down. Harry glanced over at the clock. "Bloody hell, it's only nine in the morning? Why didn't you just let me sleep through breakfast?"

Ginny didn't answer.

Harry scowled and tried to flatten his hair. "I was up late doing work... stuff, and I know it was hours past midnight by the time I got back. I was — in the library, you know, anybody could've found me." He glanced down at his feet, hoping that no one had tried to do just that. Still, she didn't answer. Harry sighed and slipped on his shoes, finally sticking his wand into his belt. He was as ready as he'd likely be. "If you're angry at me for coming back so late, I apologize. I'd simply forgot the time..." He squinted over at her, finally noticing the droop of her back and the shaking of her shoulders. "Ginny?"

"So — this is why we weren't supposed to share information from the diaries?" her voice sounded watery, as though she was crying, though Harry hadn't a clue why.

"What are you talking about?" he muttered. "I suppose it was all to keep staff secrets from getting around, but Hogwarts is so small that everyone knows everything -" He cut himself off abruptly, finally realizing what her words meant. "Oh, no."

Ginny finally turned around, showing a tear-stained face to Harry as she lifted the book from her lap and waved around a well-worn page. "It's all creased. How many times have you read it?"

"It was — like that..." he remarked lamely, unsure how to respond. "It keeps opening to that page. Like — like someone... wants people to know..." Harry trailed off and looked away, hating the way his cheeks burned in shame.

"He's your _father_," Ginny said, tossing the diary to the floor at Harry's feet. She climbed to her feet and advanced on him. The gold inlaid 1980' gleamed up at him, as though mocking his secrets. "Does he even know?"

Boy. The word rang through his head. "He doesn't want me," he said savagely. "I don't — I'm not going down to breakfast, I need to stay here and -"

"Your father is a Death Eater?" Ginny stumbled back as though physically struck by the realization, She bumped back against Ron's bed and finally collapsed back into a sitting position again. "Merlin's beard, Harry, how are you going to — your dad's a _Slytherin_, he's a horrible, terrible teacher, he's a mean, spiteful -"

"Stop it!" Harry stooped to grab the diary, hugging it to his body. "He's — he's not evil, he's not a Death Eater, he's on our side! I don't — _like_ him, but he's my dad! He's my father!"

Ginny scowled. "I thought you said he didn't want you."

It stung, even if they had been his words. "He doesn't," Harry whispered. "He doesn't want Harry Potter. He wants... I don't know what he wants. He wants Blaise as his kid, maybe, but not me." His fingers tightened on the diary in his grasp. "Not me."

"So — so that's it, then? You're going to defend him, even when he's behaved in a perfectly awful manner to you for the entire time you've been at Hogwarts? You're going to claim that — that hateful bastard?" Ginny jumped to her feet again, hands clenched into fists, showing the Gryffindor metal he'd come to expect from the youngest Weasley. 

Harry wavered. "I've always wanted a family. He's my family. And it wasn't his fault..." Harry trailed off, shaking his head. 

"Well." Ginny sniffed loudly and took a step toward the door. "Ron'll think this is just the most horrible thing he's ever heard. You — Snape's son — you don't even look like him!"

He darted between Ginny and the door, tossing the diary to his bed as he went. "You can't! Ginny, you can't tell Ron! You can't tell anybody!"

"Just try and stop me!" she countered. "_We're_ your family, Harry, not that terrible man. Me and Ron, and Mum and Dad, even Hermione. We're your family, you don't need _him_. But you still need to tell them! I can't keep this a secret — it changes everything!"

"It changes nothing," Harry snapped, "not about what's important! I was still born at the end of July in 1980, I've still been marked by Voldemort himself, I'm still the one who has to destroy him! All it changes it the way people will look at me, and Professor McGonagall told me how it'd all play out!"

Ginny stepped sideways; Harry followed her. Without being conscious of the motion, he set his hand on the handle of his wand. "If it doesn't change anything, why keep it a secret? Just because McGonagall said -"

Harry shook his head frantically. "That's not it, not at all! They need a figurehead, she said, and she's absolutely right. That's all I've been, that's what I'll have to be. They need something to rally behind, and if this scar on my forehead's enough to build an army, then so be it!"

"Army?" Ginny whispered. "What are you planning?"

"I've got three — no, two days to figure out how to destroy him. To weaken him. I need to weaken him, so that he can be killed by someone else. I'm not strong enough to kill him myself, but my mother's protection... Dumbledore's protection... it all has to be enough!" 

"You're not making sense," she responded. "Protection? Killing? I know you think you've got to... but why in two days? There's years to plan, years to get together this bloody stupid army or yours -"

Harry shook his head again. "In two days, I'm dead. Remember the prophecy?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "The what?" Then she paused, letting out a loud bark of laughter. "Trellawney's thing? She's a batty old fraud, Harry, you know that as well as I! You can't trust a word the woman says! She probably came up with the whole thing just to scare you, just like Ron says she always does during class -"

"It was real," Harry replied. "I swear it. It's her third real prediction. I'm going to try to weaken him, I'm going to try my hardest, but I know I'll be lost in the whole thing. I guess I knew at the beginning, sort of. It's all coming full circle — he failed in killing me the first time, so he must be the one to do it the second time around."

"You're daft," Ginny snapped, trying to push past Harry. "I'm going down right now, and I'm telling Ron everything. He's going to -"

Harry grabbed her shoulders and shoved her away from the door. "No. You're not telling him anything. I can't trust him not to spread this all around."

"Oh, and you can trust Blaise? Maybe Luna?" Ginny rubbed at her arms where he'd touched her. "Let me past."

"Promise me you won't tell," Harry growled. "Promise me you'll take the secret to your grave. That's where I'm planing on letting it reside."

"Ohhh, no," Ginny replied. "They have a right to know. They're your family, not the man who fathered you."

She tried again, but Harry prevented her leaving. This time, he shoved harder, and Ginny tripped, landing on her backside on the floor. "Harry! Let me by!" She struggled to her feet angrily.

Harry took a step back and drew his wand. "Promise me, Ginny."

"No. I won't promise a thing. This is _wrong_." She stepped forward, grabbing for his wand. "Put that down and let me by!"

He stepped backward again, avoiding her grasp, and came up against the door. At least he was keeping her from leaving again. "So help me, Ginny, I'll — I'll — Just promise, and we can go down for breakfast!"

Instead of responding, Ginny grabbed at his wand. Harry managed to keep a tight grip on it, but went down under her onslaught. With his free hand, he grabbed a wrist and slung her out of the way — she tore at his sleeve as she went, and he stumbled, down to his knees. He recovered just in time to see her making a dash for the door. Harry brought his wand up — there was no way he'd make it in time to stop her from getting out — her hand touched the doorknob —

He wasn't entirely sure why the particular spell came out of his mouth but, despite his lack of training in the area, it nonetheless did. "_Obliviate!_"

Ginny straightened up slowly. "What's — why are we in the Gryffindor dormitory?" she asked. "Harry?"

"I — oh, God -" he stumbled back, wand still extended. "I'm sorry — I -" He choked, hands shaking. He hadn't a clue how to do a memory erasure. How much had he changed? How old did she think she was, what month did she remember last? 

She tilted her head to the side. "Where's Hermione? We're we all supposed to... er... I can't remember... Oh, I feel sort of woozy..." She wobbled on her feet.

Rather than help, Harry scooped Lucius Malfoy's Dark artefacts into his pocket, shot past Ginny and fled out the door. This was bad — bad beyond belief — and the one person who might be able to help was the last he wanted to see. 

~

Around every corner, he imagined he could hear shouts of accusations. He took a back staircase to the dungeons, rather than take the chance of passing anywhere near the Great Hall. If he was seen without Ginny, there would be questions.

Harry paused to peer around a corner, then jerked back, pressing his back to the wall. Peeves was there, unscrewing a sconce. If anything could bring the whole of the castle down on him, it was the interference of Peeves the Poltergeist.

The creaking of the screws stopped. "Hm. What's that I hear? Breathing, in the dungeons. Is there a nasty student lurking about...?"

He held his breath, trying desperately not to move. 

"He thinks he can hide? Maybe I'll just knock over this suit of armor... Headmistress is sure to come... Is it an iccle firstie? A high and mighty fifth year?" Metal clunked.

Harry threw himself around the corner, frantically. "No! Don't!"

Peeves had his shoulder against a suit of armor, which was tipping precariously. "Harry Potty, sneaking about in the night where the students shouldn't be — Headmistress will know what to do with Potty -"

"I'm hiding!" Harry hissed, thinking fast. "From the Bloody Baron! He heard me in the hall and thought I was _you_."

He hadn't thought it would work, anyway. Peeves gave a snort. "Bloody Baron, out for a stroll? Where is he, then? Just in your mind — Potty's crazy, the papers said, bloody mad -"

A loud clunk echoed down the hall, and Harry had no need to fake fear. "He's coming!" Harry mumbled, scrambling for an alcove. He heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away — one problem out of the way, at the very least — and crouched between the suit of armor and the wall, trying to stop panting.

There was a swish near his ear, and Harry squeezed his eyes closed, making himself as still and small as possible. Had it really been the Bloody Baron, or some other school ghost? They were all likely to sound the alarm — he really wasn't meant to be roaming the building alone — but once someone found Ginny, that would be the very least of his problems.

However, no more sounds came. Harry relaxed a bit, and opened his eyes to survey the hallway, only to find something tall and brooding looming over him. He let out a yelp and crashed against the suit of armor as he shot to his feet, trying to make himself feel less like a first year in trouble. "Prof-Professor Snape! I was just -"

"Playing hide and go seek? Did you think closing your eyes would keep someone from finding you?" Snape sneered, grabbing Harry's shoulder and yanking him away from the wall. "Perhaps that's your plan to take on the Dark Lord — close your eyes so he can't see you and sneak up behind him, before beating him to death with your stuffed bear?"

"Stop it," Harry retorted. "I was — I know you don't want me down here, but I was coming to find you!"

Snape shrugged and spun on his heel, his robes following in a graceful drape. "You can tell the Headmistress that I prefer to dine alone."

Harry rushed forward and grabbed his father's arm. "That's not it! I've done something — I shouldn't have — oh, God, I'm going to be in so much trouble for this -"

"What did you do now?" He finally stopped and turned around. "Well? On with it? I haven't got the day to listen to you."

Running his hands through his hair, he winced. "I'm — Ginny read the diary, she found out — and she threatened to tell everyone, she wouldn't promise not to -"

"You want me to obliviate her? It's illegal."

"I _know_," Harry moaned, "that's the very problem!"

Snape froze. "You — you obliviated a fellow student?"

Harry took a step back, away from the anger simmering in his father's gaze. "I didn't mean to. I just — my wand was in my hand, and I said the words, and I didn't realize the words were coming out. And then she was all confused!"

"With any luck, your spell was too weak to destroy her memory." Snape took off in the other direction, and Harry jogged to catch up. "Where is she?"

"In my dormitory. She came to wake me up, for breakfast." Harry ducked his head. "Can we fix her? Can we give her the memories back?"

Snape shook his head. "Where's Minerva? The Headmistress? Where is she?"

Harry grabbed Snape's arm and yanked, forcing the older man to a stop. "_NO_. You can't tell her this! It was an accident — and I'd be expelled for sure! I can't kill Voldemort if I haven't a proper education, and I can't go back to the Dursleys, I can't!"

"You should've thought about all of that before you meddled with something so sacred as someone's memory!" he snapped back. 

"What, and you haven't done worse?" Harry growled. He reached over and applied pressure on the place where Snape's Dark Mark still lay. "I haven't killed anyone. I haven't tortured anyone. I made a mistake, she'll be fine — she knew who I was, knew Hermione's name -"

"You can't brush this aside!" his father countered. "Spells like Obliviate should be as Unforgivable as anything I used in my youth!"

Harry snorted. "Oh, and you have problems with the people who use that spell to keep this whole world secret? Do you have a problem with the people who run around erasing Muggle memories to keep us hidden?"

"It's different," he began. "It's for the good of -"

"You hypocrite," Harry snapped. He pulled himself up to his full height and realized, for the very first time, that he had become as tall as his father. "One thing's bad for wizards, but it's fine to use on Muggles? How dare you act as though they're not people, too! You're acting all high and mighty, as though being a wizard makes you somehow better — I'm not so surprised you became a Death Eater and all that, you're just as prejudiced and terrible as Hermione makes you out to be -"

Snape snarled. "You're changing the subject! You've just erased part of your friend's memory, and you want to argue morals with me?" Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder and propelled him down the hall, barking out "July 29!"

Harry tripped across the threshold into his father's quarters and rubbed at his arm. "There's got to be some way to fix it."

"What do you want me to do, wave my wand and make the world perfect again? I've got magic, Harry, but I can't make miracles." His father turned and stalked over to a counter. He started a magical fire and fumbled, one handed, to put a kettle on. "What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered, sinking into a chair. "I didn't mean for it to happen, really I didn't. I just pointed and the spell came out, and I didn't expect for it to work — when I was chasing Bellatrix Lestrange, the spell didn't work, no matter how much I hated her and I wanted her to hurt — why did this one work, I don't understand -" Harry cut himself off and slapped a hand over his mouth, wishing desperately that he could undo what he'd just said.

Snape was frozen in place by the counter. His voice was barely audible over the crackling of the fire beneath the kettle, but Harry could hear the steel in it. "What spell did you try to use on Bellatrix?"

"Nothing. Nothing, I didn't — I didn't say that, it was nothing -" Harry pulled his knees to his chin and rocked back and forth, praying for the line of questioning to pass.

"Black had just been killed. You ran after Bellatrix. That's what Albus told me." Snape turned slowly, Harry could catch the flair of his robes out of the corner of his eye. He was too afraid to face him eye to eye. "Albus said he caught up to you as the Dark Lord was about to destroy you. What happened then, between the time you pursued Bellatrix and the Dark Lord attacked you?"

"I just — I tried to stop her, is all. She was going to kill me." Harry cringed.

Snape's shoes came into view, and he reached out to tip Harry's head up. His face wasn't as Harry expected — no anger remained. Instead, there was something he'd never imagined: fear. Terror. "What spell did you try to use on Bellatrix Lestrange? Tell me."

"No, I can't -" Harry drew back, but his father held his chin in place.

"Harry, what spell did you use on Lestrange?"

It would be so easy to tell — so easy to get it off his chest... but it was illegal, it was Unforgivable, it was an immediate sentence in Azkaban... just one sentence and it would be off his chest, out in the air, and he could learn to live with it, just as his own father had learned to live with the hurt he'd caused... Harry gulped and hugged his knees tightly. "I tried — Cruciatus — I wanted her to hurt -"

Harry cut himself off as his father sucked in a panicked breath and dropped Harry's chin, stepping away. "Oh, Merlin. You didn't."

"It didn't work," Harry objected. "I just — it was the word, the spell, it didn't work, she was fine -"

Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder, and Harry was very conscious of his father's crippled arm, hanging uselessly in its sling. "Just the word — just the spell — none of that matters. It was Unforgivable, and you broke boundaries which were set in place for a bloody good reason. Those spells are _Dark_, those spells are meant to torture and maim, to kill and to control, to do all the things the Dark Lord does. Once you've used one... Unforgivable, Harry, it's just what the word means. Your very soul -" He cut himself off and snarled, releasing Harry's shoulder in order to rub his hand over his face. "You're marked. You're truly marked."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to try to explain himself, but stopped abruptly. He sank back into the chair and covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

His father smoothed down his mussy hair tenderly — for just a moment, Harry forgot "Boy" and could only see his dad. "I can't make it right... but you have to promise me, Harry. You have to promise me you'll never do another Dark spell. It's the only way..." He paused and lifted Harry's chin. "Once, a long time ago, Albus Dumbledore offered me a second chance, on one condition: I could never do another Dark spell. Not an Obliviate, not a Killing Curse to destroy a fly. In that way, I might gain redemption. The Dark still calls, like a Siren, but I'm committed. I curse his memory for what he did to us, but I am committed to the Light. If you can do the same thing... I doubt the Dark can ever be truly expunged, but if you commit yourself to -"

"I can't," Harry whispered. Hand shaking, he drew the slip of paper with the incantations for the dagger, brooch, and sphere from his pocket. "I have to use one of these to destroy Voldemort, remember?"

"We'll find something else, then," his father snapped. "You can't. Don't you understand? The Dark calls to me, every day of my life. After being the vessel of such power, it's nearly impossible to wean oneself of it. It's an addiction, a drug of unsurpassed and uncontrollable power over a person's being, over your every waking moment. The spells you've done, the spell that failed... it's only a taste of the Darker magics, but as your slipup demonstrated... as you used a Memory Spell on your friend, you gave in. You didn't even realize it, you don't realize it, but if you don't learn to control yourself it will take over you..." His eyes were wide, almost frenzied, and Harry pulled back sharply. This was his fatherh as he'd never seen him: not the imposing disciplinarian of the classroom, nor the man whose tears flowed at their first reunion as a family. He seemed, to Harry, half mad.

"That's ridiculous," Harry muttered. "It's not like that. I was just — just wishing that Ginny would forget, and the spell just slipped out -"

"Uncontrollably," Snape finished. "This is magic we're speaking of, not a game. Actions have consequences, have you not learned that lesson yet?" He let out a sigh. "Terrible consequences. My actions, your actions, your friends' actions — good and bad, they've led us to the place where we are now."

Harry scowled. "Yes. The place where we are: we can destroy Voldemort, _I_ can destroy him, if I can use the tools put at my disposal -"

"They'll destroy you," Snape growled. He took another step back and yanked at the knot around his neck, releasing the sling holding his arm in place. It flopped to his side uselessly. Snarling under his breath, he fumbled one-handed at the button on his sleeve and pulled it up. "This is what you can look forward to. This, or something equally horrible, that will mark you as being forever tied to the Dark." Lifting his useless limb carefully, Snape turned his arm to face his son.

"Oh, God." Harry turned his face away.

"Look at me," his father snapped. "Look at this. This was my fault. Had I not turned Dark, I might've been with your mother when she died; I might've been there to raise you instead of Lily's contemptable Muggle relatives; I might've been able to prevent you from being so burdened, from having to be Dumbledore's pet hero. This is _my_ mark, this is _my_ burden to carry and, so help me, I will keep the same from happening to you. Even if it destroys me."

Tentatively, Harry glanced back. His father's arm was hideously withered, the bones jutting and the skin stretched so thin it appeared skeletal. Broken veins criss-crossed the mess, leaving purpled bruises in a painful web, and in the middle of it all was the Dark Mark. It alone was undamaged, its black pigment and red eyes glaring out at Harry. "Voldemort did that," Harry whispered. "You didn't do that."

"But I deserved it," his father said. "Every moment of it. I've done the same to others — do unto others as you would have them do to you, Harry. I tortured, and so was I tortured in turn."

Harry shook his head. "That's not you talking, that's some more of the nonsense Dumbledore fed you — just look what he did to us! If he'd told the sodding truth, we wouldn't be in this mess! It's not your fault, it's Dumbledore's!"

"_I_ took the Dark Mark, _I_ made the choice to devote my life to the Dark Lord's will and now, even after seeking my penance, _I_ have to pay for what I've done!" Snape rolled down his sleeve and replaced the sling. "Don't you understand what I'm trying to teach you, son? The consequences of your actions won't be known for years. If you use that dagger as the Dark weapon its meant to be, if you cast the spell and stab the Dark Lord with that brooch, if you throw the orb at him and freeze him, freeze his very soul... any action you take will rebound on you tenfold... Harry..." He sighed, and started over. "You took away your friend Ginny's memories. Once she realizes that she's missing time, what will she do? _Who_ will she think had a hand in it?"

"What?" Harry furrowed his brows. "I don't understand."

"Her first year at this school, Harry — you should remember better than anyone else! Albus told me the story after the fact, when she was terrified that the whole of the school would blame her for being a murderer, for messing in Dark things that she'd never touched, yet her body had..."

Harry sighed and looked down at his hands, ashamed. "You think that Ginny will believe Voldemort's taken her over again."

Snape shrugged. "She may. And if she does, it may undo all the good progress she's made since the incident. One cannot touch the Dark without being marked in turn — Ginny's mark is in her mind. Don't you see? That's only one consequence that could occur... what if Mr. Weasley discovers you've taken her memory? What will Mr. Zabini do when he learns his new friend plays with Dark materials as though he hasn't a care in the world?"

He let out a short breath. "Yes, yes I see all of that, and you make a good point — but what about Voldemort? He'll be attacking in only two days! We know he's coming, but will that be enough? This time, we have the power to destroy him for good. We don't need Dumbledore's plan, we don't _need_ hundreds of witches and wizards to sacrifice themselves for the _figurehead_ of Harry Potter, just so a spell will rebound more powerfully. We have the tools to make it easier! And if I'm marked, so be it — this is something greater than either of us!"

"This is just what Dumbledore wants you to do," his father snapped. "Damned Gryffindor — foolish -" He snarled, shaking his head. "I won't let him do this to you, not when he's dead and buried. We don't even know if these would work! You could stab him only to find he's soulless, or immune to poison, or — or something else entirely! You could stab him, only to be stabbed right back! I'm not going to lose you again, not when I've spent all these years mourning -"

"But it's not about you," Harry whispered. He touched the paper lightly. "It's not about you, and it's not about me. This is about saving our world. The prophecies say it has to be me. Trellawney's third prophecy: only black can save his life... the hero cannot be saved... I was right, and I know it. Only Black Magic can save my life, even if I end up marked by it — and I _will_ be marked, I know that because the hero cannot be saved.' The heroic Boy Who Lived façade can't survive this, but _I_ can. It just means I use these." He waved the paper around. "You can't stop me from making this choice, father. I know it's for the best. It's going to save who we are."

Snape sighed deeply, leaning back against the counter. The kettle was boiling over, but he didn't seem to notice. "I said as much, to my father, once," he said simply. "The next day, I was branded by the Dark Lord. I — I see so much of my youth in you. It scares me... I fear you're making the same mistakes as I made..."

"They're mistakes I need to make for myself. Now teach me the correct pronunciation or let me leave. We've only two days to prepare." Harry busied himself with digging the artefacts from his pocket (plus the brooch from Luna, which had been shoved there accidentally) and setting them out on the desk in front of him, unwilling to chance his father seeing the desperation in his eyes.

"I must," his father whispered. "I'll curse myself for it, but if this keeps you alive..." He sighed. "Repeat after me..."

~

Several hours passed as they poured over the tiny slip, and Harry memorized Hebrew roots and Greek derivatives just to approach the understanding needed to master the use of Dark objects. His father was a good teacher, without the stress of House loyalty in the way — Harry made progress at an alarming rate. By lunchtime, he felt confident of using the orb or the brooch, but the most powerful of his weapons, the dagger, still eluded him. After another failure to activate the spell, Harry stabbed the nearest desk with it. "It's useless. I should just use the orb. I don't need to be near him with the orb."

"Yes, but your aim is horrendous," Snape countered. "You could accidentally hit a teacher, or a friend."

"I need a rocket launcher," Harry mumbled. "Or a grenade. I could just blow him to bits and be done with it."

Snape sniffed. "Well, that sounds perfectly barbaric. Muggle tools of war?"

"They're effective," Harry countered. "Not everything the Muggles produce is useless."

He yanked the dagger from the table and presented it to his son, handle first. "Try it again. This was your idea, not mine."

Whispering the spell under his breath, Harry didn't notice as the door flung open. The dagger was yanked from his hand. He looked up in shock, keeping the slip of paper clutched tightly in his hand

"What are you doing!?" It was Remus, holding the dagger as far from his body as possible. "Oh, Merlin — what are you doing, that's Dark Magic!" He looked weary, and it was then Harry remembered that it was the night of the Full Moon. They'd be one defender down.

"I'm practicing in order to destroy Voldemort with a spell-activated poison," Harry snapped. "Now give it back, I haven't perfected it."

Remus growled at Snape, slamming the dagger on the tabletop near Harry. "You're teaching him this, aren't you. He's your boy, so you're going to ruin him for all time -"

"Oh, sod off," Harry's father snapped, sending Harry gaping with shock. "You heard Trellawney's prediction, this is the only way to keep him alive."

Harry gave his father a skeptical glance. Was this the same man who'd argued against that very logic? Snape avoided Harry's gaze.

Remus grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Don't do this, Harry. You're not going to die, Trellawney's off her rocker -"

"No." Harry brushed him off. "She predicted Pettigrew's escape. She's right on this. I'm the one who has to kill him, and I'm going to dictate the terms of it. I'll use his tricks against him. Now get your potion and go."

Snape turned and walked over to the counter, laddling something into a goblet awkwardly and pressing it into Remus' hand. "Just take the cup. You'll be locked in somewhere for the evening, Poppy will watch over you. Without the entire dose of the potion, as you've been unconscious, we have no idea how violent your transformation will be."

Defiantly, Remus downed the whole of the potion in one gulp, slammed the cup on the table next to Harry's pile of artefacts, and stormed out of the dungeon room. He paused in the doorway to look back at Harry. "Mark my words, you'll regret messing with _his_sorts of magics," he growled, looking every inch the wolf, before disappearing down the hall.

Harry sighed deeply and went back to his slip of paper, taking up the dagger again. "I'm almost done. I can feel it. I'm going to understand this -"

"We should take a break," Snape pressed. "You've been working too closely with the Dark magics for too long. We should go up to lunch and prevent Lupin from spreading knowledge about what we're doing — we should check on Miss Weasley -"

"_No_," Harry growled. "I'm going to finish this!"

Snape tried to disengage the dagger from Harry's grasp. "Give it over. You're learning this too quickly. It took me weeks to pick up the first of my Dark spells."

Harry snorted. "Jealous, are we?"

"Not of something so Dark," Snape murmured. "This, your swift comprehension, is not a good sign for the state of your soul. You're already inclined toward anger, this is enough -"

The reality of it dawned on Harry. "You're afraid of what I can do," he whispered, eyes wide.

Snape hesitated, and then nodded. "You shouldn't be able to tap into Dark Magic, not without other forays into it. You have only two, unless you've kept some from me... and though Elizabeth and myself both resided in Slytherin, Bethy hadn't a Dark bone in her body. This isn't something inherited -"

"It's Voldemort," Harry explained. "It has to be. He marked me. I got his Parseltongue. I'm connected to him. That's why I can use Dark Magic."

"We need to stop. If it's Voldemort's influence, we need to talk to Minerva — maybe she won't blame you for what happened to Miss Weasley -"

Harry grabbed the dagger back and scooted his chair away. "_No_. You go up, but I need to finish this -"

"Harry — Come on, you don't want to end up as Dark as a Dark Lord -"

He pocketed the paper, then the brooch. The orb was on its way to Harry's pocket when his father plucked it and the dagger from his hands. "Give me the brooch too, Harry. I'll not have you wandering the halls with instruments of Darkness."

Harry shook his head. "I need some protection, unless Voldemort shows up early. I'll be back to learn those later today."

"Not today. You have two more days. You shan't learn more of the Dark Arts until you've had a chance to do some Light magic to balance some of the Dark off of you..."

He scowled and turned to the doors. "You're afraid of what I can do," he repeated. "I'm your son, and you're afraid of me."

"Harry," Snape sighed, "that's not what -"

"I'm going upstairs," Harry said abruptly, cutting his father off. "I'm going to eat lunch with my friends. I'm going to hang out for the afternoon with my friends. I'll be back here tomorrow morning to finish my training. Do you understand? This isn't your call anymore. You can be as afraid as you want, but it won't change what needs to get done. Don't talk to me, don't contact me, until tomorrow." Without looking back at the likely shocked expression on his father's face, Harry marched toward the door. 

There was still a way to overcome, he was certain of it... it would simply take more than Severus Snape could offer for Harry to be ready in time. He had the horrible feeling that time was most definitely short.


	11. A Knife's Blade

The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: And the end is near... have a nice week, everyone.

Chapter Eleven — A Knife's Blade

December 29, 1997

"Harry, mate, where've you been all day?" Blaise demanded. He was sprawled across a couch in the Gryffindor Common Room, with Seth firmly entrenched in Harry's chair and the rest of the remaining Slytherin children camped out on the floor. Justin Finch-Fletchley and his Hufflepuff Housemate, Pip, were sitting on the staircase to the boy's dormitories playing Snap. Luna, Ginny, and Ron were nowhere to be found.

Harry shrugged and collapsed down the couch from Blaise. He could feel the two brooches in his pocket clunking against each other. "Spent some of it in the library. I was too busy for breakfast."

"And had tea with Snape, I'd imagine," Blaise murmured softly. "I was wondering why you didn't come down for breakfast. We sent Ginny up to wake you — your little girlfried looked angry with that arrangement, mate — but she didn't come back down and we got to wondering why -"

"Er -" Harry cleared his throat, turning his gaze on the fireplace. "Where _are_ Ginny, and Ron, and... and Luna, who is clearly not my girlfriend."

Blaise snorted his disbelief. "Whatever you say. They're up in the infirmary, though. Ginny was having migranes or something such and went off Ron got back from breakfast. Luna joined them after lunch."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "That's — that's an awfully bad deal."

Frowning, Blaise peered at Harry. "You alright, there?"

"Doing — doing just fine, yes, thank you. Er — what have you all been doing today?" Harry picked at a hole in his sock.

Blaise snorted. "Oh, come off it and apologize to the sodding git."

Harry blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Ron. Apologize to bloody Ron for not paying attention to him or whatever and spare us the rest of the brooding. As you well know, we've no time for it. If you're even planning to come out of your whole battle alive, you bloody well know you'll need the lot of us at your back, Weasleys and all." Blaise sent him a droll look. "Come on, Potter, no need to look all worried about talking to your friends."

"Yeah," Harry whispered, looking away again. "I should." He should, yes, but he knew the guilt would give him away. "Look, Blaise — I'm gonna go upstairs for a while. I didn't sleep well last night, and I'm gonna... take a nap. Wake me for dinner, right?"

Blaise shrugged. "Fine, mate, whatever you want — but it's your loss."

"My loss," Harry repeated. Without another word, he rose and jogged up the stairs, the brooches bumping against his hip to remind him how close the end was.

Did he truly believe he could survive what was to come? It seemed impossible. Harry sat down on the floor at the end of his bed and opened his school trunk. On the top were clothes: jumpers from Mrs. Weasley, slacks, a pack of owl treats for Hedwig. And there it was, his photo album, tucked away under all the necessaries, to keep Blaise from stealing it again. Harry flipped it open to the wedding picture and found Elizabeth Potter hanging off to the side. "Hi, there, Mum," he whispered. He felt only a little ridiculous talking to the picture. It wasn't as though anyone was there to hear him. "Er — I've gone and made Dad angry. If you were still alive, I'd wager you'd be hearing an earful about how I've gone and screwed it all up. You see, Dumbledore had this plan, and it wasn't a grand plan at all. I was going to lead a legion of wizards to their deaths. It was an awful plan, actually. But I've got a better one, and it's not such a good plan for me, but in the end... it'll save so many lives, Mum, how can he think it's bad? It'll get rid of Voldemort, and it'll be my life, not so many others. I bet you'd agree with me, though it might be hard for you to accept it and all." Harry sighed and the photograph smiled shyly. "I wish I'd known you."

"What's the plan?"

Harry jerked upright, dropping the album in shock. Luna was standing in the doorway, hands in her robe pockets. She didn't seem particularly surprised by anything she'd heard, so Harry had to wonder just how much of the conversation' she'd been a party to. "How much did you hear?" he demanded.

"What, no hello?" Luna frowned and wandered across the room. "Well, you were talking to a picture of your mum. And you've a better plan than someone. Who had the old plan? What's best about your new plan?"

Then she hadn't heard him speak about his father in the present tense — and, from across the room, she hadn't seen which person held most of his attention. He let out a short sigh of relief. "It's none of your concern, really."

Luna dropped down next to him, leaning against his shoulder. "What's this? Your parents' wedding?"

"Yes, of course," Harry muttered. He scooted the album half onto her lap. "That's that's er, Mum and Dad. That's their best man, my godfather, Sirius Black."

"And he died, in the Death Room," Luna said. "That's Professor Lupin?"

Harry nodded. "He was another close friend of J- my parents. There's Hagrid, and Professor McGonagall -"

Luna leaned down, peering at the picture more closely. Then, she sat up again and pointed directly to Elizabeth Potter. "She's related, closely. You look more like her than your parents."

Harry couldn't help his eyes widening. "How did you -"

"Just because I'm not always thinking about things going on at Hogwarts doesn't mean I don't see everything," Luna murmured. She tilted her head slightly, staring at Harry as though he was just another edition of _The Quibbler_. "You have your father's eyes, you know," she said simply.

"What -?" Harry jerked away, utterly failing to disguise his shock. "I have my fathers' -"

But Luna had already moved on, and was digging through her pockets. "Oh, here we go. So long as we're trading pictures... this is my mum."

Harry shot over a suspicious glance, but took the snapshot anyway. A near mirror-image of Luna, plus ten years, beamed back at him. "She's lovely," he said. The photo giggled and waved at him. 

"That's just before she married Dad," Luna explained. She took the picture back and smiled at it lovingly. "Hi, Mum." She slipped it back in her pocket and turned back to Harry, grabbing his elbow lightly. The album on her lap seemed forgotten. "Now, then, that plan -"

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "Look, don't you get that it's not your fight -?"

Luna cut him off, shaking her head emphatically. "But don't you see? It's all of our fights. They might all think I'm daft, but I _do_ know how to protect myself, and how to help in what's to come. I've been training so hard, ever since Dumbledore's Army, just to fight at your side when it all comes together."

"You did?" Harry gulped. From the half-adoring look on Luna's face, he supposed that maybe Blaise had the right of it. "Er — it'll just be a lot of dying. Mostly me and Voldemort, I suppose, but if you're in the crossfire I'd feel rather — guilty about it."

"Tell me," Luna pleaded. "You look like you want to tell someone, I can see it in your eyes. You've been like that for days. Since before Christmas. Something's eating away at you, and I promise I won't tell anyone, Harry."

He couldn't tell everything, but there was at least one subject he could explain. With a low sigh, Harry fished the brooches out of his pocket, along with the slip of paper. She beamed, seeing her Christmas gift in his hand, but he replaced it immediately. "You can't tell a soul — not Ginny, not Ron, not the Headmistress. This brooch is a Dark artefact, sent to Professor Snape from Draco's father, and it might be the way we destroy Voldemort. This, or two artefacts just as Dark. Here, these are the spells — don't say them, don't even think them, they're just that Dark -"

And, an attentive audience to the last, Luna listened while Harry explained all the trials and tribulations involving the boxes of Lucius Malfoy's last contribution to society.

+

"Harry?" He glanced up from the photo album to find Blaise standing just inside the dormitory. "Er — it's dinnertime... I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Luna, whose head had at some point migrated to a resting position on Harry's shoulder, smiled radiantly. "Oh, nothing at all. Harry was just showing me his photo album and telling me all about the pictures."

Blaise sent Harry a lavicious grin. "Oh, showing you pictures, was he?"

"Oh, come off it," Harry growled, giving Blaise a glare before he gently nudged Luna's head away. She straightened up and then climbed to her feet, giving Harry a hand up.

"How's Ginny faring?" Luna asked. Harry tripped, but managed to recover. He set about cleaning up everything he'd pulled from his trunk — Luna had asked for a full explanation of it all, after the explanation of the three Dark artefacts — to cover up the guilty wince on his features. 

"She's much better," Blaise said. "Or so she says. She's headed down to dinner with Ron already. She said she came up this morning to find Harry and got all dizzy when she got here. She said she swears she can remember Harry running past her to get out, but also remembers the room being empty. Déjà vu, she's saying. I don't know, I think she fell asleep and can't keep her facts straight."

Harry gave a strained laugh. "Yeah. That must be it."

Luna shot a concerned look in Harry's direction, but before she could make something of it, Blaise clapped his hands together. "Alright, then. Food? I think all the Weasleys are going to be down there tonight. Professor — er — Lupin, he won't be, right?"

"He's fine until sundown," Harry argued, but Luna grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door.

"Come on, now. If there's a war to be fought, it's silly to argue about old prejudices — though, Harry's perfectly right about it all." Luna gave a distracted smile. "There was an entire edition of _The Quibbler_ about the mistreatment of werewolves, but it was one of our least popular articles, in the end."

Blaise grumbled under his breath as Luna dragged Harry by. "Somehow, that doesn't reassure me in the least."

In the Common Room, Harry tried to disengage his hand from Luna's, but her grip was much stronger than her waifish frame suggested. Over in the most comfortable chair in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry heard Seth's editorial comments. "Well... they certainly deserve each other, both madder than hatters..." The Slytherin first-years twittered in response, and Harry could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. What was Luna thinking, anyway?

Obviously, she either hadn't heard or hadn't cared. "We're off to dinner," she announced cheerfully. Harry in a vice-like grip, she headed toward the door. Blaise followed the both of them.

"I'm never going to live this down," Harry commented as soon as they'd cleared the portrait.

"What's to live down?" Luna asked innocently, though the spark of mischief in her eyes told Harry everything he needed to know.

Despite Blaise's amused expression, Harry stopped arguing. After all, she'd been right — he had needed someone to talk to. She'd been there for him. And she had been, many times since Sirius' death. 

+

He doubted the furor over their entrance was enough to make up for the tomato-red his face had maintained for most of the meal. Lupin wasn't there, likely readying himself with the also-absent Madam Pomfrey for the difficult transformation ahead. Harry's father was absent, as well, though Harry couldn't imagine what kept him away. With Luna seated to his right and Blaise to his left, however, it was easy to ignore the half-suspicious gazes sent his way from the Weasley section of the table. 

"Stay in your dormitory tonight," Headmistress McGonagall was explaining as the meal was ending over pudding. "While we are quite confident of Mr. Lupin's restraint during the transformation, we do not want to put any of you in any danger whatsoever." Her announcement of Lupin's presence had been met with a discouraging amount of shock and anger, at least so far as Harry was concerned. Lupin had been their best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher ever — with the sometimes exception of Professor "Moody" in his fourth year, despite the actual identity of the teacher — and Harry thought he deserved more respect from all those presence, even the first and second years, who hadn't gotten the chance to learn from him. 

Before he could make a stir over it, however, Luna reached over and patted his shoulder. "Plenty of time to tackle that once You Know Who is out of the picture," she said, logic unfailing. "I'll convince my father to put another article in _The Quibbler_ to start off."

"Right," Harry muttered. "I'm sure that'll fix everything."

"And — Mr. Potter, would you stop conversing with Miss Lovegood, and pay attention?" Harry blushed as the Headmistress' wrath was directed in his direction and ducked his head. "Yes, then. As I was saying, the professors will be meeting this evening to discuss the procedure for strengthening the wards on New Year's Day. Until then, be wary — the wards are weakening, but my power as Headmistress will not be strong enough until the turning of the year to reinforce those protections Headmaster Dumbledore has left us. As you no doubt know, we fear L-lord Voldemort may attempt an attack before the wards are finished. After this evening's meeting, we will have instructions for each of you, should such an attack occur."

Harry poked his pudding. With talk of Voldemort, he lost his appetite entirely.

"- And I'd like to remind you," Professor Sinistra was saying, "the Astronomy Tower is strictly off-limits outside of class time. My wards recorded the presence of an individual but, as I cannot tell their identity, I can only assume it was a first year who was not fully informed of the rules regarding the tower's intended use... I've heard some perfectly awful stories about the things _my_ tower is associated with, and I'd like to remedy those rumors immediately..."

Harry sighed impatiently. He'd had enough of Ron's frowns to last a lifetime, but it seemed as though the professors were likely to continue for ages, with their words of warning. What time had the Headmistress said the professors were meeting? Harry wanted at least several more hours of work on the dagger spell before he went to sleep for the evening. Or was he allowed in the dungeons at all? He thought he remembered her saying that Lupin was to be housed there for the night, but perhaps he should've been paying more attention... he was having a terrible time, at that. So were others, it seemed: Luna was reading something under the table, and Blaise seemed to be making a list of... something or another. The other boy's writing was nearly incomprehensible, especially when Harry was reading from above and to the side. 

The whole evening seemed eerily normal, considering what was likely to happen in the next few days. Down at the other end of the table, Harry saw Ginny joking quietly with her three brothers and Tonks. Percy was smiling, a common occurance since his appearance at Hogwarts with Bill, and the eldest Weasley brother was attempting to look serious while he smothered a laugh. Ron was batting his Prefect pin around the table in between frowns. Closer, the Slytherin first and second-years seemed to be passing notes around, which Professor Vector was trying desperately to stop with the least amount of disturbance to the Headmistress, who was once again pontificating on some point or another. The others looked bored, or tired — Justin Finch-Fletchley was certainly asleep over in his part of the table.

It was too normal. Less than a month earlier, a slaughter of horrific proportions had occurred, some of it in this very room. The friends and classmates of all those present were killed, the Headmaster of the school met his end fighting the Darkest wizard alive. Most of the blood was gone from the floors and the walls, some of the night terrors left off. Harry no longer woke twice a night to hear Seth screaming as he relived whatever horrors he'd been party to. Was this life in a war zone, then? Despite the ever-present threat coming from the outside, despite the fact that many students likely wouldn't be returning for the next term because of the horrors that were enacted under the enchanted roof, life went on. Students smiled, professors gave lectures, and they rebuilt. 

The sight should've brought hope for a post-Voldemort world, Harry supposed, but all it did was reinforce the desperation of the situation. They were standing on the edge of a knife's blade — one step to either side, one tiny stumble, and they'd be sliced in two. Harry looked down at his hands and tried to concentrate on whatever the Headmistress was saying, as boring as it seemed. "... and so, the full moon has many meanings beyond that of the werewolf. Keep them all in mind: blood magic, love spells, healing spells affecting the heart, all of these have a heightened effect at the full moon. Go on, head back to the dormitory now. You've had your lesson for this evening."

"For this evening?" Blaise muttered as noise broke out among the students. Justin jerked awake, and McGonagall sent him a glare. "Does this mean we'll have more of these... lessons?"

"It was interesting," Luna murmured. "Well, sort of. I didn't know any of the applications of blood magic, before. Too bad it's all so Dark. Maybe I can get _The Quibbler_ to do a special issue..."

Harry blushed. "Er... you wouldn't want to give me the shorter, less boring version, would you?"

"You didn't listen to any of it?" Luna demanded. "Oh, Harry, she was talking about how the beast is in a werewolf's blood and spit, and that's why a bite causes infection -"

"Er -" Harry noticed Professor McGonagall watching them intently, and grabbed Luna's arm. "Let's — you can tell me all about it, just... not here, right?"

Luna hooked her arm with Harry's and beamed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron smirking at the no doubt uncomfortable expression on Harry's own face. "We could go over to the library. There are probably lots of books on blood magic, if you're so interested."

Harry gulped, and Blaise grinned nastily. "Well, I'm just going back to the dormitory, you know. You two should have a lovely night," Blaise said.

"Oh, sure. Books," Harry muttered. 

She dragged Harry toward the door, and despite being uncomfortable with the whole situation he was nonetheless grateful to get away from the knowing stare of Minerva McGonagall. "People seem to think I'm not a proper Ravenclaw, but I am. I love the library, you know. And other students don't bother me there quite so much, though since I started hanging out with you and Ginny and Ron and Hermione, they've mostly said things about how you're more off your rocker than I am. I try to set them straight about it all, but they never listen to me."

He couldn't say he was surprised. No one seemed to have quite gotten past the article in the _Daily Prophet_ naming him mad. "Yeah. Well. Er... blood magic, right? You were going to tell me what Professor McGonagall said? We — we don't _really_ need to do extra research or all that, unless it seems like it might help in the fight against Voldemort... but you said it was Dark Magic..."

"Quite!" Luna seemed more intrigued by that than anything else. "Blood magics are involved in resurrection spells and some portal spells — before Apparation, only a blood portal could really move you any where, the Headmistress was saying — and love spells are quite dark indeed. Love spells aren't about love, so much, you know. They're about controlling one's mind, and that's what makes them Dark. While I suppose the portals really aren't so bad — they're just to get you from one place to another, though a stronger portal comes from a slaughter rather than a weak jump from bloodletting — love spells are truly evil. They warp one's sense of self until the victim of the spell would kill himself or herself rather than be without the affection of the one who cast the spell. I'd think it's crueler than Cruciatus, even — to tear oneself to pieces in the hopes of making someone love you? How heartbreaking... love is the one emotion that should never be rifled with, don't you agree...?"

Harry had stopped paying close attention somewhere around the talk of killing and bloodletting. "Was that all she said about the portals, Luna?" His mind fixated on it, as though it was something so urgently important that all else took a back seat. 

She nodded. "Just that. Did you want to know more? I'm sure I know the perfect book in the library, and Madame Pince said she was going to be there until the meeting tonight..."

"Yes. I need to check something... it just feels like this is vital..." Harry started toward the library. "Wait, what time was the meeting at?"

Luna snorted. "Well, you certainly weren't paying attention in the least, were you. It's at seven thirty. We have, oh... fifteen minutes? The Weasley brothers, Bill and Percy, were going with Nymphadora down for drinks at the pub, did you hear that discussion, too? Bill fancies her. The whole table could hear, it was quite funny."

"No, I didn't hear... Wait, Lupin's transformed, Madame Pomfrey is watching him, and Bill, Percy, and Tonks are out of the building? Was there anyone else likely to be away from the meeting?" Harry quickened his steps.

"No... all the other teachers will be there... McGonagall, Snape, Vector, Sinistra, Hooch, Sprout, Roetzel — he's been just terrible for Defense, I don't think I've learned a bit -" Luna cut off, having a hard time keeping up with Harry's increasing pace. "Harry, what is it? What's so important about the library?"

Harry winced. "I have a terrible, terrible feeling about all of this... do you know where the books on blood magic are located? If I'm right, we haven't much time at all."

Luna narrowed her eyes. "Harry, please tell me what's going on."

"The portals," he said. "I think they're important. Plus, we're down from twelve defenders to seven, tonight. Isn't that odd? Tonight, when the wards are starting to break down more quickly, and blood portals are the sort of Dark Magics I wouldn't put past Voldemort... I suppose our only solace is that electronics don't work in the castle, so the Great Hall couldn't be bugged..."

"Of course it can be bugged," Luna said. "Haven't you read _The Quibbler_ at all? There are animagi — unregistered, of course — and magical eyes, tracking spells and duplicate ears. There are spells to look through windows from afar, and the ceiling of the Great Hall isn't safe, since the projection of the sky would cover up anything set there. My father did an article on -"

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "Luna, are these real spells? Spells you know? Or just things you've heard about. Please, don't take offense or anything, but this is really important — these can't be _Quibbler_ conspiracy theories, these need to be facts..."

Luna's eyes narrowed and she tensed up, wispy happiness gone. "They're fact," she said shortly. "I'm sorry you think I'm mad, too, but all I've tried to do is help -"

"Don't be on my case, too," Harry snapped. "I really can't take anymore — first Ron, then Blaise trying to get me to apologize for some daft notion of Ron's, then Ginny angry at me for — for everything. I need you on my side, I need to be able to trust you. You have to admit, some of _The Quibbler's_ theories at least _appear _to be a stretch, alright? To those of us who aren't believers?"

"Yes..." she said cautiously. "Some of us have seen things others wouldn't believe... like the thestrals, most people don't believe thestrals exist, but since they're invisible..."

Harry nodded sadly. "Yes. The thestrals. But you see where I need hard data, for this? I... look, we can talk about _The Quibbler _and all your theories later, but there's no time for talk, now -"

Luna nodded hesistantly. "Alright, then, but we _will_ be having that discussion, you know. You'll be a believer, yet."

If they didn't move fast, Harry wondered if he'd have any more discussions at all.


	12. Journey's End

The Gift 

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Here's the final chapter. I'm also posting the epilogue today.

__

Chapter Twelve — Journey's End

December 19, 1997

They reached the library soon after, and Madame Pince sent only a cursory glare as they hurried to the section where Luna swore the books would be. The woman was sending significant glares at the clock as soon as Harry sat down with a small stack of books, but he ignored her in favour of reading. Time was certainly against them, this time. 

"Harry, please," Luna whispered, "tell me what you're thinking. Then I can help..."

"I need..." He winced. "Look, I need information about the most powerful blood portals, and how they compare to Apparation. For instance, would an anti-Apparation charm prevent the portals...?"

Luna gasped softly and finished his sentence. "... because today, the wards are weaker, and if a portal can cut through with the increased strength of the full moon... oh, Harry, we should go tell the Headmistress right away -"

"No," Harry hissed, "I need to know for certain. Then we need to go and get everyone, so we're all in one place, if I'm right. Or, we need to get the first and second-years in hiding — I'm thinking ahead, I don't even know if I'm right..."

While Harry babbled to himself, Luna sorted through the stack of books and took two. She scanned through the table of contents of one, flipped open the pages, and handed it to Harry. "Here, try this one. I'll take another."

He skimmed as quickly as possible, grateful to have something to keep his mind off the task he might soon be required to perform. As he read, he patted the brooch in his pocket, to make sure it was still there. "This is useless," he muttered. "It just says portals were abandoned for their Dark qualities..."

"I have it," Luna said simply, waving around a book. "And you're right. Anti-Apparation wards are tailored to that specific spell. With enough blood spilt, none of these wards would be enough to stop something like that."

"Voldemort has nothing against spilling blood," Harry muttered. Then, all of a sudden, the books on the table lifted into the air. "Hey! What's -?"

Madame Pince appeared at their table. "Go on, out. Out, out, out. You heard what the Headmistress was saying — I've a meeting, and you've a dormitory." Without another word, she levitated the books into their correct slots and ushered Harry and Luna out into the corridor. "Can I trust you to return promptly to your dormitories, or must I miss part of the meeting to ensure your safe arrival?"

Luna smiled. "Oh, we'll be fine, Madame Pince. I'm with Harry, after all."

"Yes, quite." She locked the doors and swept away.

"Come on," Harry said, "we need to get Blaise and the others. We should have at least some time... isn't midnight the most powerful time, since the moon will be highest in the sky?"

Luna nodded. "Most powerful, yes, but the whole night is a danger..."

"All the professors are in the same place, right now. Voldemort will know that, if he's bugged the Great Hall. He'll not be mad enough to attack the staff of Hogwarts in one place..." Harry let Luna take his arm again, and they headed toward the dormitories at a brisk clip. "So he'll portal in. We don't know where, and he knows the school as well as the rest of us... he's usually after me, so a safe place to bet would be Gryffindor Tower, right? He'd know from listening in that we're all in the Tower."

"We can take everyone to another dormitory, maybe. Or the library, or anywhere else, for that matter... but the Great Hall might be another good place. It's so large that he can't possibly miss, and the book said that it's an imprecise spell..."

Harry tapped the brooches in his pocket. "Imprecise... then the Great Hall seems to be a more likely target... we should have enough time to -"

A piercing scream rang down the corridors and cut him off. Harry and Luna stopped abruptly and turned back the way they came. "Oh, God -" Harry started.

"Not mad enough...? Harry, what if he means to kill all the professors first...?" Luna squeezed his arm, pulled out her wand and, without another word, started dashing down the hall toward the Great Hall.

Cursing softly, Harry followed. He took out his wand as well and, due to his longer stride, had an easy time catching up with her. The Gryffindor Tower was forgotten for the moment — should the professors fail, the students would have little hope of surviving, one way or another. His breath was in his ears, heavy, and his heart beat wildly in his fear. They thundered around the corner and Harry could see flashes of green and red coming from the half-open door of the Great Hall, a mockery of the cheerful Christmas celebrations of only four days earlier. Harry made to charge forward into the fray, but Luna yanked him aside. "Wait," she whispered. "Look first."

And so, together, they peered around the corner. Harry pulled the brooch from his pocket and tried to make ready for whatever came. 

Holding his breath, brooch in one hand and Luna's wrist in the other, Harry took in the chaos that was the Great Hall. It was worse than he'd imagined: Voldemort was backed by half a dozen Death Eaters, and the professors were barricading themselves behind the tipped over Ravenclaw table near the center of the room. Motionless, Professor Sprout lay between the door and Voldemort, close enough that Harry could see a long stream of blood running from the back of her head. 

He heard someone whimper softly; it could have been himself. His mind returned him to the night he crept around the school for help, only to find Draco Malfoy's life staining the floor. This was it, then — one way or another, he'd be next on the floor. He just had to take Voldemort with him. Harry hefted the ruddy brooch in his hand and took a half step forward.

"No," Luna whispered, dragging him back. "Not yet — we have to warn the others, before -"

Ruddy brooch. Wrong brooch. But the other was still in his pocket, ready to be used. He simply had to switch the two, rush the room... "You go. Get Blaise to show the rest of you where to hide. He led the Slytherins last time." Harry moved toward the door again.

Luna clung to his arm tightly. "I'm not leaving," she hissed, "this is my fight, too! I told you that! I'm serious!" And the whimsy was gone again. She looked more like the picture of her mother than Harry had thought possible — she was lovely and determined. To some extent, he felt grateful, felt flattered that someone would care enough to stand by his side. 

But the flattery faded quickly once he realized what her sacrifice would be. "You can do more by going and warning people. I have to do this, Luna. I have to. It's my destiny."

"Bloody destiny," Luna snarled. "This isn't your destiny! You make your own destiny!"

"Shh!" Harry clamped his hand over her mouth, listening for a moment to the shouts of curses flying in the Great Hall. He could pick out Voldemort's voice shouting Killing Curses, and McGonagall's desperate Stunning Spells and, now and again, his father shouting something advanced or verging on the Dark. "Then I'm making my destiny. I can kill him. Don't you get that? I can end this now. All it'll cost is my life."

Luna sucked in a breath, dragging his hand away. "Then it's my life, too," she whispered. She fell silent, and Harry finally took a moment to look into her eyes.

There was fear. Fear, and love. He'd seen the fear before: the moment Sirius fell to his death through the Veil, his eyes were full of fear and confusion. In Draco Malfoy's sightless eyes, there had been fear; fear and resignation. After the attack in early December, Hermione's eyes always held the fear of death. (Hermione, he'd never see Hermione again, would Ron apologize for what Harry had to do?) Ron's were full of fear of loss, of desperation. 

For a moment, Harry wondered what fear his own eyes held. Were they reflections of Sirius' confusion? Malfoy's resignation? Hermione's fear, or Ron's desperation? Or were they a reflection of his fate? This was it. This is where the past years had led: the magic, the friends, the loss. All of it brought him here, to overcome the very monster trying to kill his father in the next room. He was wasting time; he had to go, but he couldn't let Luna lose her life in the battle. He just couldn't, not when her eyes were full of compassion and love. 

"It's my life, too," she repeated softly. When Harry didn't respond, she pulled from his grasp and raised her wand, rounding Harry to charge into the Great Hall.

Harry caught her before she made it and pulled her away. "I can't let you," he hissed, "I can't -"

"Harry, please, let me help," she begged.

A flash of light illuminated the darkened corridor around them and was followed by a loud cracking from within the hall. Arms still restraining Luna, Harry ducked to the side to glance into the room. What met his gaze reminded him of his task. The Ravenclaw table was split in two by some curse, and Death Eaters were attacking the professors who dove for other cover. Flitwick had joined the motionless Sprout on the floor, and Harry's blood froze as he watched the event happening in slow motion. 

His father dove for other cover. 

Voldemort noticed, and raised his wand. 

Severus Snape was too far to make it behind the Gryffindor table in time.

The Dark Lord roared out a curse, and the flash of light filled the room.

He didn't fall though. The curse struck Harry's father directly, but it was only after a moment that the curse registered in Harry's mind; and the curse was perhaps worse than simple death might have been. It was the curse which Harry himself had used, once, to the disgust of his father. "_Crucio_!"

While the other professors fought for their lives, Harry's father's pain was screamed out for all the world to hear. Slowly, the man crumpled to his knees, body curling to protect his already crippled arm. Harry took a step forward, only then remembering that Luna was trapped in his arms.

"Harry," she whispered, "you need my help."

And he realized he did. Turning them both so that the sounds of Snape's screams were the only things connecting them to the battle within, Harry felt the weight of the red brooch in his hand. "I need your help," he whispered. She relaxed, and Harry leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. While she wasn't paying attention, he flicked open the pin of the brooch and slipped it onto her robe shoulder. "Bring Aurors," he whispered, "bring them as soon as you can. I'm sorry."

"What?" Luna tried to grab a tight hold on Harry's arm, but he was already pulling away. 

He ran his finger over the brooch and whispered, "Start," just had Luna had instructed him on Christmas Day. Before the illegal portkey could draw him in, as well, he took a large step back and watched as Luna, eyes now filled with betrayal, popped out of existence to where ever her father lay in hiding.

This was it, then. He fished the other brooch from his pocket and locked the pin into position. His father's screams were overwhelming. Harry raised his wand and charged around the corner.

At first, no one seemed to notice him. Voldemort was close to the door, just past the prone bodies of Flitwick and Sprout. The other Death Eaters were arrayed in the back of the room, chasing down the staff who tried to escape through the back exit. At Voldemort's feet was the object of his attention, paces away and screaming his pain. 

It seemed almost to be too easy, until a Death Eater noticed his presence and shrieked warning. Harry turned his wand and yelled, "_Stupefy!_" watching the man fall to the ground. 

"You're right on time," Voldemort snarled, dropping the curse on Harry's father.

Harry didn't stop his forward momentum, not even when Snape threw out his good arm and begged him to get away. 

"Come the turning of the year, the boy will live no more. Only black can save his life, and only blood can change for right. But the Boy Who Lived — the hero cannot be saved."

With Trellawney's words in his mind, Harry threw himself forward.

Voldemort looked surprised, as though he expected Harry to take a stand and make a verbal challenge. When it became apparent that Harry's simple plan was to attack him physically, Voldemort turned his wand on the Gryffindor and started the dread curse. "_AV_-"

It was slow motion again. Harry was sprinting forward, yelling his own response. "_VITUE_ -"

His father was screaming in agony, now, not from the pain of Cruciatus but from the desperation to save his flesh and blood. He reached for Harry and, in his mad rush, Harry tripped over him. Harry started to go down, flailing for purchase.

Voldemort's wand followed him. "-_ADA KEDA_-"

"_-RE TU_!" Harry caught the Dark Lord's sleeve, and went tumbling into him. The tip of Voldemort's wand was pressed to his forehead, at the center of the scar the wand had created. Poetic justice, then, that they would die locked in combat, when it should have happened years before.

Harry stabbed the brooch into Voldemort's body — hip, stomach, chest, he wasn't sure what was closest — at the same moment as the spell was completed. "-_VRA!_" Except the Killing Curse faded into a wail of agony, and as the flash of green filled all of Harry's existence, he could see Voldemort crumpling, too.

Did the villain still have a soul? Was this last gesture enough? He could only hope, as he would never know. He wondered if this was what Sirius felt as he fell through the Veil: breath did not come, and green was overtaking his vision. Green, then white, hot pain, and then black. As the room tilted and faded, he could hear his father sobbing — and then it was gone.


	13. Epilogue: What Lies Ahead

The Gift 

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all. 

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask. 

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: The end!! This, like my college career, is now done. As graduation looms only a few days away, I'm planning on taking a bit of a break from everything. Cheers.

Epilogue: What Lies Ahead

January 7, 1998

His first sensation was of white. White walls, white light, and white pain. He was groggy, and in the brightness before him, he could make out a dark head. Dark hair. "Sirius?" he whispered.

A loud snort brought him to reality. "I should take offense, but perhaps I'll let you off with a detention for comparing me to that mutt, may he rest in peace."

Harry gasped, eyes flying open. He was in the infirmary, not in his grave. Sitting next to him was his father, holding his hand. But for Severus Snape, the room was empty of any visitors. "Dad?"

Carefully, his father reached over and smoothed down his hair. It was only then that Harry realized the man was using both arms. "Oh, God," Harry whispered. "You died. We both died. I'm sorry, I tried -"

"No, no," Snape assured him. He scooted over to sit on the edge of the bed and, desperate for parental influence, Harry leaned in and let his father hug him tightly. "When Voldemort died, the curse on my arm was dispelled. That's why I could feel the summons, Harry, it was because he didn't truly destroy my arm. I... there's so much to tell you... but there's so little time..."

"I should be dead," Harry whispered. "What....?"

His father helped him to lay back down. "You finished the spell and stabbed Voldemort before he finished his own spell. It weakened the Killing Curse enough so that you did not die, only lapsed into a coma. I was so scared, Harry... so scared..."

"Coma?" Harry peered over. "What day is it?"

"January the 7th. Classes have started. You should have visitors any moment, as soon as they realize you're awake. There's press here, Harry. The stories are making you to be a martyr for the cause, willing to sacrifice your life to save the world." Snape gave a sardonic smirk. "I'd understand if you want to disown me."

Harry sucked in breath. "Martyr? Sacrifice? I... Dad, I don't want... press? Oh, God."

He narrowed his eyes. "Calm yourself. It's just the press. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape it -"

But then it all came crashing in on Harry. "Do they know how I — I killed Voldemort?"

"Yes." Snape winced. "They know. Because it was Dark Magic, you might be charged with -"

"No. No tribunal, no court, not like last time." Harry hissed out a breath. "I can'd do this. I can't be Harry Potter. You've got to do something... You said I could choose, Dad, you said I didn't have to be Harry Potter, we could make it look like Harry Potter died -"

He nodded slowly. "I thought you'd ask that. But I wanted to know if you're sure. You can't tell your friends, if you do this, not for a good long time. You can't tell anyone. Even the Headmistress must think Harry Potter is dead. She's no Dumbledore, she can't keep the secrets he did — and she shouldn't."

There was a banging on the door. "Do it," Harry said. "Whatever you do — just do it." 

"Professor Snape? It's Hermione! I want to see Harry, please let me in! The monitor, it said he's awake!" She pounded on the door again.

"Stand," Snape whispered. He grabbed a pillow from a nearby bed and set it in Harry's place as he wobbled slowly to his feet. He helped Harry to take a seat on the next bed, then transfigured the pillow into the precise shape of Harry.

It was eerie to see the unmoving form on the bed. He felt as though he was at his own funeral — and in some ways, he was. "Are you certain?" his father asked again. "The transfigurations of your face will be permanent. You will be William Snape."

Harry pushed his way to his feet, finally steady, and nodded. "Do it."

Ignoring the door, Snape nodded. It took only two flicks of his wand, then one to change the hospital pyjamas into a simple, black sweater and slacks. A startling alarm filled the ward as Harry — William, now — turned and caught sight of his reflection in the window. 

His hair was curly, like his mother's. His eyes were less piercingly emerald, and his chin sharper. The changes were small, but they made him seem quite different. Yet most startling was the utter lack of a defining scar on his forehead — in fact, the dummy on the bed was without it as well. "My scar?"

"Gone, with Voldemort," his father whispered.

"The alarm?"

Snape didn't need to answer. Madame Pomfrey came dashing from her office and rushed at the bed. "Severus! There aren't any heartbeats from the patient!"

He shot a somber look to his son, then turned to Poppy. "He woke, for a moment. And he smiled."

"Merlin. Oh, Merlin." The nurse collapsed on the floor. Harry was in shock — his death would affect the staff this much? 

He had a brief moment of regret. Taking a step toward the nurse, he stuttered, "I- I'm sorry- I -"

His father restrained him. "Don't. William, don't."

He froze, and Madame Pomfrey looked up with a tearstained face. "Severus...? Who is...?"

"My son," Snape noted. "Harry was his cousin. I brought him as Harry's last family."

William sank back, letting his father take the lead. He stared over at the body on the bed, then, and wondered what this new life would bring. He was the son of a hated man, but he was free — finally free.

He had no time to ponder it, as the door was thrown open. Hermione rushed in, with Ron and Ginny on her heels and Blaise trailing close behind. Harry started to speak, but she rushed straight past him and grabbed the stiff hand of the body on the bed. "No!" she shrieked, and Ron threw his arms around her. Harry averted his face from agony too painful to witness. He stumbled toward the door rather than face his friends with his new face.

And there, in his field of vision, were two shoes. He glanced up to find Luna hanging in the doorway. "He's dead?" she whispered.

Harry nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. Luna looked over to the bed and he started to sidestep her, but she turned back to him. Their eyes met for a long moment, and Luna's widened in shock. "Harry?"

He choked. "William," he said quickly. "William Snape. H-Harry was my cousin."

"You have your father's eyes," she said simply. "Your father's eyes and your mother's mouth."

"How did you know?"

Luna smiled. "I've always watched you. You didn't think you could fool me, did you?" She stepped forward and slipped her arms around him. "I won't tell."

William hugged back. "I'll tell them, but not — not yet." As soon as Blaise heard the name, he'd know of the deception, but the others... they needed to come to terms with things. They'd be the ones interviewed, and Ron could never keep a secret... he felt dirty, but at the same time, so liberated...

He held Luna in his arms and noticed his father at his shoulder, smiling softly. Hermione's sobs, Ginny's moans, and Ron's wails lingered in the background, but he forced himself to turn a deaf ear. This was his life now; this was his new chance. The Boy Who Lived was no more, the hero wasn't saved, but William Augustus Snape had a new chance in a world free from Voldemort's tyranny.

Perhaps Divination had its merit after all.


End file.
